Confessions
by Aima D. Duragon
Summary: Sequel to Obsessions. It's been just over a year since Draco made Harry forget, and overall things were running smoothly, that is, until a certain article appeared in the Daily Prophet. Now Draco wants Harry back...but at what cost? HP/DM
1. Prologue

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Yay the first chapter is finally up! Sorry I've taken so long...this summer hasn't been quite as productive as I would have hoped. But to all of you who have waited, I hope not to disappoint!

I would like to note that this story is a SEQUEL to my other fic Obsessions and cannot be read/understood without reading that story first!

Much thanks to all the wonderful readers and reviewers of Obsessions, all of your feedback was so sweet and definitely gave me the drive to dive into this story! And thank you to my wonderful beta **ThexBlairxWitch** who definitely made this chapter 10x better than it was. You're the best! Now enough of my rambling...

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_I think you can do much better than me_

_After all the lies that I made you believe_

_Guilt kicks in and I start to see_

_The edge of the bed where your nightgown used to be_

_I told myself I won't miss you_

_But I remember what it feels like beside you_

_I really miss your hair in my face_

_And the way your innocence tastes_

_And I think you should know this_

_You deserve much better than me_

-Hinder

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Thunder boomed and lightning flashed across the midnight sky, slicing clean through the dark clouds that seemed to have settled themselves directly over Malfoy Manor. Rain poured down in heavy sheets, turning the grassy fields to mud and causing the trees to bend and moan under the strain of the roaring wind. No sane person would've dared to venture out into a storm like this, but then again, Draco Malfoy had never exactly considered himself sane. His white blonde hair was matted to his forehead and his black suit was sopping wet and uncomfortably heavy. Alarming chills of cold racked his body and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. But none of this mattered because, as always, Draco Malfoy's mind was wrapped around one solitary thing.<p>

Harry Potter.

It had been just over a year since the incident with Ginny…since he'd made Harry forget. Overall, Draco thought he'd handled it rather well, if he excluded the fact that he had turned into a virtual insomniac and had thought about killing himself on more than one occasion. He was a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoys didn't mope. They buried their pain and hid it from the world for the sake of reputation. So, with nothing but his name and seven stunted years of schooling, Draco had thrown himself into the world. After only two weeks of searching, he had managed to land himself a job as an accountant at Gringotts. Sure, he'd had to put a few thousand galleons into a certain goblin's pocket to procure the position, but it had been worth it. The work was nothing less than engrossing, and Draco had been more than eager to pour himself into it. His work kept certain feelings he didn't want to feel at bay, and sometimes; when he was toiling over a particularly rigorous file, he was able to feel almost…content.

However, the job was not without its pitfalls. Granted, he was able to lose himself in a task, but it made the lulling moments of calm all the more unbearable. When his mind wasn't fixated, it seemed keen on driving him mad. Evenings were the worst. There, alone in the darkness of his room, everything seemed to press down on him like a weight, crushing him with a pain unlike anything he'd ever felt. It made him feel old and frayed, like a string on a violin that was just about ready to snap. Most nights, if he managed to sleep at all, he always woke up to the sound of his own voice, screaming.

Of course, he had expected for the first few months to be bleak—tortuous even. What he hadn't expected, was for things to get even worse.

His mother had moved out just under six months ago. She had said that it was for her health, but Draco knew that after Lucius' death, she could barely hold herself together, let alone support an emotionally unstable son. It was after Narcissa's departure that the rumors started to spread—about a frightened mother seeking dissolution, and a Death Eater's son who was slowly deteriorating into madness. Not a month later, Narcissa Malfoy had killed herself. Of course—and ever predictably—she had left Draco a note, detailing that the Malfoy estate was to be left to him, and telling him how proud she had been to have him as her son. But the words had been glazed with propriety, and Draco had tossed the letter into the fire before even finishing it.

He dove even deeper into his work after that, and was rewarded with a promotion.

That was around the time that Pansy moved in. She was the only person he'd ever bothered to see outside of Gringotts, mostly because she liked to talk, and in those days the blonde had hated nothing more than empty silence. At that point in time, Pansy had acquired some lowly secretary position at the Ministry—he couldn't be bothered to remember which department. He offered her a job as his personal assistant at more than double the pay, knowing full well she would've jumped at the opportunity for much less. It also didn't surprise him that Pansy leapt at the mere suggestion that she move her permanent living quarters to the Manor. A moving van had shown up in his drive the very next morning.

Draco knew what she thought he meant by all of it, but he didn't much care. He wasn't going to make himself responsible for her flights of fancy. Besides, it was nice to wake up and not be alone.

But it was all just a front. The truth was, Draco had never felt more isolated.

The Slytherin had only seen Harry once since he'd left him at St. Mungo's that day. It had been in Diagon Alley. Draco had been sent on an errand to pick up a parcel, because the regular errand boy had owled in sick that morning (the goblins had told him not to bother coming back). Sometime earlier, he had learned from a headline in the Daily Prophet that Harry had been made Seeker for Puddlemere United, and to his endless luck—or lack thereof—the team had chosen that particular day to venture out and sign autographs. Draco had later told himself that it had all been an extraordinarily unfortunate coincidence, but sometimes, late at night, he wondered if fate was simply a trickster with a bad sense of humor.

The crowd had come upon him rather suddenly, for he had been busy musing about the day's calculations. He tried his best to work his way to the outskirts and duck down some side alley or other. But there had been too many people, and for every step he fought against them he was pushed back two more. Not knowing what else to do, he had finally given up and let himself be swept along in the crowds current. It had been so loud, and he had been so upset—he really shouldn't have been. He should've been paying attention to where he was walking. Then, perhaps, the whole situation could've been avoided. Draco couldn't remember exactly when it happened, only that suddenly, something hard had hit him head on, causing him to careen backwards and fall to the rough cobblestone road. Everything after that had been burned into his mind like a brand.

Draco blinked, a string of curses automatically spilling over his lips.

"Malfoy?"

Something like an electric shock had surged down his spine. He remembered looking up and seeing two emerald eyes staring down at him, wide with confusion. And all at once, Draco's body had come alive with all the things he'd been keeping dead for so long. Silent tears welled up in his eyes, and he remembered the sudden urge to retch, for fear that the flutterings in his stomach would fly right out of him.

"Malfoy, are you all right?"

He had get up—to do something! But he couldn't. Those eyes had him captured. _Bound_. And for the life of him, he would've stayed in that one moment for all eternity if he could have.

Then someone had taken him by the arm and hoisted him up. That had been Weasley. Draco wouldn't have known had the redhead not spoken to him. The blonde's eyes never left Harry's. Not once. And he knew that he had looked at Harry as if he was the only thing ever worth looking at, and he knew that Harry had noticed it too. Draco had seen the change in his eyes, and from there it had traveled down Harry's jaw and into the tense muscles of his shoulders.

"Malfoy," Ron had whispered in his ear, his voice tight with some unnamed pain.

How vividly the Slytherin's memories had flooded upon him then—cruel and sharp and real. Harry's face lighting up with his smile. The smell of grass and water and wind. A soft sigh as Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. Heat and sweat and muscles rolling beneath bare skin as their limbs became tangled in silk.

"Malfoy," Ron had whispered again, more fervently this time, "I'm sorry…you have to go. I'm sorry."

Two more pairs of hands had grabbed him then, and dragged him back into the crowd, while Harry merely stood, staring after him. Draco didn't exactly know what had happened after that. The next thing he remembered was standing in Gringotts, parcel in hand.

He didn't sleep for a week after that.

That had been two months ago. And since then…everything had been falling apart. He'd been a fool to think it wouldn't—to think that he could just move forward as if nothing had happened. It was all catching up to him now, and he was tired of being strong. He was tired of running away all the time. He would never escape the past, not really. It was always there, nipping at his heels, taunting him and snapping its cold jaws of anamnesis. He had been teetering on the edge for quite some time now. The darkness lay before him, just out of reach. How he had come to long for that abyss—the dark comfort of the endless black that promised nothing but sleep.

His long fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife he held—the very same knife Harry had used to kill Tom not one year ago.

This morning had marked the final breaking point—the end-all to whatever shred of normalcy he had been clinging to. He had been sitting at the breakfast table with Pansy, as had become customary of Sunday mornings at Malfoy Manor. There he would read the Daily Prophet, while Pansy would jabber on about some event she wanted to plan or attend. Of course, he'd seen Harry's name in the Prophet before—it was a risk he'd become accustomed to. But compared to their Hogwarts days, Harry's articles were exceptionally small, and Draco had always been able to skip over them with the barest of twinges in his stomach.

But not this morning.

When Binky had brought him the paper this morning, the blonde had scarcely glanced at the front page headline before bolting off to the nearest bathroom to retch. He remembered his body shaking all over and his heart slamming so hard against his ribcage that it hurt. He had unwittingly carried the paper into the bathroom with him. He didn't know how long he had sat there, simply staring at the words. He vaguely recalled Pansy's voice at the door, but it seemed as distant then as it did now. There was only one thing in the world that had existed to Draco at that moment.

**HARRY POTTER, DESTROYER OF VOLDEMORT, ENGAGED TO GINEVRA WEASLEY!**

** -Daily Prophet remarks: "Finally!"**

It burned. Like he was on fire and being ripped apart from the inside out. Everything was spinning, wild and chaotic and out of control, and everybody seemed to be hanging on except for him. His father had always taught him to suppress his emotions, and for all intents and purposes he always had…until Harry.

Maybe that was why everything seemed to be turned on tenfold, because before Harry, nothing had ever felt real. Why was it that the one thing he wanted most was the one thing he couldn't have? It had been like that since the day they first met—the day Harry had snubbed his offer of friendship. What hate had filled him then. But Draco was used to hate. He could _thrive_ on hate.

The problem was…he had tasted the other side. He had been shown a glimmer of the life he could've had. He had loved and been loved, and oh, how he cursed himself for it. How he cursed that day he'd made Harry forget.

His own memories tortured him. There had been more than one occasion that Draco had been prepared to perform the Obliviation charm on himself, but he could never bring himself to do it. Draco couldn't bring himself to forget because, somehow, he knew he would still remember. Making himself forget wouldn't make the emptiness go away, and if he didn't know the reason for his own emptiness, how could he ever hope not to lose himself in the void?

Everything…everything he'd done and everything he was…it was all because of Harry.

Well he was tired of being selfless, and he was tired of the whispers of what once was constantly pushing against his back. And to see Harry married on top of it all. Especially to that…to that…

Draco's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white, and a loud clap of thunder echoed across the sky.

He couldn't take it anymore. He wouldn't. How could he possibly live after he'd seen what life was really like? Life was Harry. Everything was Harry. And he just couldn't take it anymore.

Draco brought the edge of the knife to his wrist, feeling the sharp prickle of nerves that came just before pain. This was where it would all end. Here, standing over his parents' graves. He wondered vaguely if it would be cold where he was going. Cold wouldn't be so bad. Draco liked the cold, if only because Harry had been so warm.

"Harry," the name spilled over Draco's lips in a choked breath. "I love you."

Then a sharp pain, a dizzying gasp, and everything went black.

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>I know that was a bit short buuuuut it is a prologue after all! The next chapter has been beta'd so I just need to read through it a couple more times before I post! Here's to the start of another grueling school year.<p>

**Reviews are always appreciated :)**


	2. A Familiar Thing

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: You guuuuuuuuuuuys! QwQ You are the sweetest most amazing readers EVER! Thank you for all the support and feedback I received on the prologue! You can't possibly imagine how happy it made me :) Now I just hope I don't let y'all down!

And once again, I grovel at the feet of **ThexBlairxWitch**, who took all of my awkward writing and made it readable X3 Love!

NOTE! This chapter and the next three (or so?) were originally written as dialogue only chapters but because I didn't want to change the style of the story I went back in and added description, so please forgive the abnormal lack of...descriptionyness. Alright! Onward ho!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_So I won't let you close enough to hurt me_

_No, I won't rescue you to just desert me_

_I can't give you the heart you think you gave me_

_It's time to say goodbye to turning tables_

_To turning tables_

-Adele

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Harry awoke with a shuddering gasp. Scrambling, and brain still fogged with the heaviness of sleep, he pulled up the left sleeve of his nightshirt. The soft moonbeams that lit the room washed over the pale smooth skin of his forearm. Harry blinked, running his right hand over his wrist. He had been so sure it had been bleeding.<p>

"Mmm," Ginny mumbled softly, curling against him and throwing an arm over his chest. "Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry could tell that she was still half asleep and he stroked her hair soothingly. "Nothing, Gin, just a bad dream." He glanced at his wrist once more, trying his best to ignore the twinging feeling of blood and cold steel. "Go back to sleep." But she was already snoring softly.

Harry sighed and settled back into his pillows, not wanting to admit to himself that he was unsettled by whatever had awoken him. With a furrowed brow he tried to recall the dream he'd been having, but there was nothing concrete to hold on to. There were only flashes—fragments of images that did nothing to ease his troubled mind. And even more strangely, the subject of these fragments was someone he had not thought about for a very long time: Draco Malfoy.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Harry!"

Harry started awake, groaning and reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. He tried to sit up only to have his head protest violently, and he fell back to the mattress once more, yanking the sheets up over his face to block out the blaring light of the sun. He really needed to invest in some blinds.

"Harry!" Ginny called again, "Get up or you'll be late!"

Harry snorted irately. "It's my day off!" he yelled back at her.

There was a long beat of silence, shortly after followed by the sound of Ginny's heels clicking against the hardwood as she made her way towards the bedroom. Harry peered over the covers to see her standing in the doorway, smiling meekly and holding a cup of coffee and the morning's Daily Prophet.

"I'm sorry, hun," Ginny said, crossing the room and leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. "I don't know why I always forget." As if trying to proffer some form of truce, she grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and slid them gently onto his face.

"It's fine," Harry replied habitually, blinking up at her. He was used to her forgetting about things like this.

She only nodded. "Well I'm off to work. I'll see you tonight for dinner?"

"Sure thing," Harry mumbled, throwing the sheets back over his head.

"Have a good day off. Love you!"

"Love you too," Harry said awkwardly, and listened as her footsteps retreated from room and back down the hall. He released a heavy sigh as he heard the front door open, close, and lock.

He sat up again, this time successfully, and stared wearily around the empty bedroom. It was very different than his bedroom at Grimmauld Place—much less like home. But after he'd been made Seeker, Ginny had insisted that it just wasn't good for his image to continue staying at his godfather's old house. So he had bought a small flat in downtown London, which Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had been more than willing to refurbish and decorate. Harry hadn't minded much though; it certainly wasn't something he would've chosen to do. Still, he did wish the girls would've toned down the crimson and gold theme a bit.

As Harry completed his scan of the room he noticed that Ginny had left him the coffee and newspaper on the nightstand. He reached over for the mug, took a sip, and immediately put it back, grimacing. Ginny, it seemed, had inherited none of her mother's talent for cooking. Still frowning, he reached for the Daily Prophet and flipped it open to a random page.

Harry's heart stopped. He blinked and read the headline again.

**DRACO MALFOY'S ATTEMPTED SUICIDE RESULTS IN AN INDEFINITE ADMITANCE TO ST. MUNGO'S. HAS THE LAST OF THE MALFOYS REALLY GONE MAD?**

** -The inside scoop from Rita Skeeter**

** "I can't say that I didn't see it coming," Ms. Pansy Parkinson remarked, "He's been dodgy ever since I first met him really. But how could he not be—having a father like he did?" Pansy reported finding Mr. Draco Malfoy lying over his late father's grave, knife in hand and wrists slashed—**

Harry didn't read anything beyond that. He felt suddenly and violently sick. His wrist prickled and he stared at it again, wondering. Surely it was some sort of bizarre coincidence. Dreams and premonitions about Voldemort had been one thing, but, about Draco Malfoy? It couldn't be. It was mad.

Yet even still, Harry had a strange feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. There was no reason for it, he knew, but it was there nevertheless. Before he could allow himself to think twice on the matter, Harry was out of bed and getting dressed. He threw on the first jumper and pair of jeans he could find, brushed his teeth, and within a quarter hour he was apparating to St. Mungo's.

The atrium was full of people and nurses bustling about in a hurried fashion. Harry scowled at himself. This was a bad idea. He should've just stayed in bed. But he was already here…he might as well find out if the story about Malfoy was true. With an annoyed grunt, the Gryffindor made his way to the front desk and stood in front of the lone unoccupied receptionist. She was busy scribbling over a rather large pile of paperwork, and seemed completely oblivious to Harry's presence altogether.

The Gryffindor cleared his throat and the woman jumped, looking up at him with large blinking eyes.

Harry could've pinpointed the moment her expression changed. "My goodness," she gasped, "you're Harry Potter!"

It was quite difficult at that moment for Harry not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, that's me. Look, I just have a quick question. Is Draco Malfoy here?"

"Oh, yes!" she answered excitedly. "He was moved to the psychiatric ward not an hour ago."

Harry's throat tightened, "The…psychiatric ward?"

"He was in critical care this morning, but once he was stabilized he apparently threw a terrible fit. Got a pretty bad curse in on one of the mediwizards so I heard, so they took his wand and put him in the ward for observation."

Harry swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, grimacing. He should leave. He'd found out all that he'd wanted to know. All he had to do now was turn around and walk away. But his feet refused to move. There was something holding him there—some undeniable feeling that he needed to be here…that he could help somehow. But why in the world would he want to help Malfoy? He hated Malfoy. Harry cringed strangely at the thought. Snorting, the Seeker told himself not to think about it too much. He'd made this whole trip on a whim after all—something to do on his day off. It had everything to do with the dream and nothing to do with him actually caring about what happened to Malfoy. Nor did it have anything to do with the void that had left him empty ever since he'd woken up from the fall.

"Can I see him?" Harry found the words spilling over his lips before he could even think to stop them.

"Oh," the woman said, looking back down at her pile of paperwork hesitantly. "I'm not sure if he's allowed visitors."

Harry nodded distantly. All the better. Good, in fact. What had he possibly been thinking anyway? Coming here and expecting—

"But," the receptionist drew out the vowel in thought, "I'm sure an exception could be made. You two were classmates at Hogwarts weren't you?"

"Um—well…yeah?"

"I'm sure that more than qualifies you as a close family friend. Here," she handed him a small plastic card, "show that to the attendants and they'll let you through."

Harry glanced down at the card, his mind whirling.

"Go down the hall to the left, take the lift up to the third floor, and from there all you have to do is follow the signs. One of the attendants will lead you to his room."

She fell silent then, apparently expecting Harry to say something. "Erm…great. Thanks."

"Have an amazing day, Mr. Potter," she said with a grin.

Harry nodded and attempted to return the smile before turning and fleeing from the counter. But instead of making his way back towards the exit like he had planned, he found his feet taking him down the hallway on his left. His mind was spinning out of control, thinking thoughts so fast he barely had time to finish the first before he moved on to the next. And what more, he couldn't seem to actually grasp what he was thinking. It was like trying to use a word but forgetting exactly what the word was. His thoughts dangled above him, and he knew he remembered them, but they were just out of reach.

He took the lift up to the third floor and stepped out into a small white room that opened into a long straight hall. Four very large men flanked the room, two on each side. Harry smiled nervously and held up his pass. They stared at him with hard, expressionless faces, and for a moment Harry wondered if perhaps he'd come to the wrong place.

"Who are you here to see?" the man on the far right spoke so suddenly and so forcefully that Harry started and took a step back.

"U—uh…" Harry stuttered, wavering, "Malfoy."

"First and last name please."

Harry's lips quirked. "Draco Malfoy." His heart gave an odd violent skip.

"Follow me," the man replied gruffly and took off at a brisk pace down the hall.

Jumping, Harry took off after him, afraid he would lose sight of the large black silhouette in the vast white glow of the hall. They walked in stark silence for what seemed to be a very long time.

"Did you know him well?" the man asked, causing Harry to start once more.

Thinking quickly, Harry responded, "We went to Hogwarts together. He—uh—was the first person I met there." It was the most truthful answer he could think to give.

"But?" the man ventured.

Harry blinked, "I—I don't know. I haven't seen him in a while I guess. We never…got on very well." For some reason Harry's stomach dropped, heavy and cold.

"I see. Well, you may find him quite changed. You're Harry Potter aren't you?"

"Yes."

The man merely hummed and nodded before coming to an abrupt halt. Harry had been so distracted that he had nearly run into him. He silently thanked his Seeker reflexes.

"This is his room," the man said, turning the silver knob of the door marked 407. "Don't go near the glass. I'll be back for you in exactly one hour, understood?"

Harry swallowed nervously, "Yes, sir." What did he mean don't go near the glass?

The man opened the door fully and motioned for him to enter. Harry moved forward and time seemed to slow around him. He rounded the corner of the doorframe, his stomach fluttering and his heart beating so wildly his chest ached. He couldn't remember the last time his body had experienced such exhilaration.

"I told you," came a soft voice from the opposite side of the room, "I'm not interested."

And there was Draco Malfoy, perched at the foot of a crisply starched, sheeted twin bed, gazing distantly out the lone barred window at the far end of the room. He was dressed all in white and in the morning sun he seemed to positively glow. Harry now saw why the attendant had mentioned the glass. Halving the small white room was a seamless piece of crystal, so smooth and clear that Harry would not have seen it but for the glare of the sun.

The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly Harry felt very alone. The gravity of his situation seemed to crash down on him like a wave, hard and unforgiving.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably, nearly wincing as the harsh sound broke through the silence. "Hey there, Malfoy."

"I told you, I don't—" the blonde started quickly, then stopped. He turned his head rigidly and Harry looked into the cold slate eyes he knew so well. In that instant everything else seemed to fall out of existence. "What…what did you just call me?"

Harry shifted nervously under the scrutiny of the other boy's stare. "I—I don't know what you mean."

Malfoy stood then, slowly, and walked towards the glass, all the while staring at Harry with the most bewildered expression. He was right upon the barrier now, so close that the glass steamed with his breath. Harry didn't know how long they stood like that—simply staring. All he knew was that his whole body had gone suddenly hot, and that his thoughts had become jumpy and fogged.

"Come closer," Malfoy said softly, tentatively.

Harry did and his heart stuttered.

The Slytherin's pale eyes narrowed further. "You're…you're not him are you. But you can't possibly be…you can't possibly have remembered…"

There was such a desperate earnestness in Malfoy voice that Harry couldn't even think of how to respond.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" Harry questioned, leaning towards the glass inadvertently.

Malfoy raised his left hand and pressed it firmly against the barrier, his eyes gleaming. And as his sleeve dropped Harry could see the ugly red line of torn flesh, stark and fresh above the Dark Mark that still marred his skin. _He must've used a blade laced with magic_, Harry thought absently, _to have left such a scar_.

"Forever." The blonde's voice was like the sound of a feather breaking through the air.

Something like a tripped wire snapped in Harry's head. _I want something that's ours._

The Seeker stumbled back, stunned and reeling. It took a moment before for world around to finally swim back into focus. He'd had these sorts of headaches before—the doctors had blamed it on post-traumatic stress from the crash—but never one quite like this.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," Harry said, hoping that keeping hold of the conversation would somehow steady him.

The blonde's hand lowered and in a flash his eyes became sharp and clear, his face creasing into its usual arrogant mask.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was different now—more like the voice Harry remembered him having.

It put Harry instinctively on the defensive. "None of your business."

"You're in my room in case you hadn't noticed. I'd say that makes it my business."

"You're in a mad house in case you hadn't noticed. That's like calling a prison cell your home," Harry snapped back.

"I am _not_ mad!" Malfoy seethed, glaring at Harry with every fiber of ferocity he had in him.

Adrenaline pumped hot and fresh through Harry's veins, and the Gryffindor smiled despite himself. This was familiar. This was…_invigorating_, just as he remembered. Constant and burning and insatiable, as hatred of the purest kind was meant to be. It made him feel alive, and he hadn't felt alive in a very long time.

"I read about what you did in the paper."

"Did you?" Malfoy's cheeks were flushed and he had begun pacing, taunted by the glass that separated them. "Always believe everything you read, Potter?"

Harry grimaced. "I make a habit not to. My dreams however…"

The blonde froze. After a beat he asked, "You dreamed about me?"

"I dreamed last night that you killed yourself. Then I woke up this morning, and there was an article in the paper about you."

"Is that," Malfoy hesitated, "all you dreamt?"

Harry's brow furrowed in thought. There was more; pieces—glimmers of moments that seemed too vividly real. But nothing he could put together into a formulated thought. What did it matter what else he had dreamt anyway? "No. That was all."

Malfoy's shoulders seemed to slacken slightly, and he gave a light sigh. "So…you came here to check in on me then? Oh, Dumbledore would be so proud—you turning the other cheek and all."

Harry bristled. "I came to see if it was true!"

"Had to come all the way to my room to do that, did you? The nurses at the front desk weren't thorough enough about my condition?"

"You don't find it weird at all, Malfoy? I'm just trying to figure this thing out!"

"Figure what out?"

"Why the fuck I dreamed about _you_!"

"And you think I'll be able to tell you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "What, you think I sent you some sort of message—some cry for help? Don't flatter yourself. I think just as lowly of you as you do of me. I don't need your help. I don't need _anyone's_ help."

Harry's body went cold and stiff, and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. But at the same time his defiance flared, and regrettably enough so did his curiosity. There were so many questions fumbling through his mind that he hardly knew if he could sift through and make sense of them all. And what was worse was the fact that he knew Malfoy was hiding something. Harry could see it in his eyes, because he knew those eyes as well as he had ever known any.

"Why are you still here, Malfoy?" Harry asked abruptly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You aren't mad, so why stay?"

The blonde raised a brow, insolence marking his features. "You think I have a choice in the matter?"

Harry stood up a little straighter. "Yeah, I do think you have a choice."

Malfoy huffed and turned away from the glass. "Yeah well…shows how much you know." He glided listlessly over to the bed and sat on its end once more. He looked at Harry then, and for the first time that hour the Gryffindor saw how extremely ragged the other boy looked—pale and stretched, and utterly exhausted. It was the face of someone who had lost all there was to lose in life and then some. But what had he lost? Malfoy had everything in accordance to wealth and prestige, but then again that had never seemed to be enough for the blonde. Why else would he have butted heads with Harry at Hogwarts? Sure he was an insufferable prat, but there had been something more, something deeper; a sense that he needed to prove himself in some way—to _show_ Harry that he was good enough. Why the sudden submission? Why the sudden fall? Something had triggered this darkness. The death of his parents perhaps? But no…the dream…

"I hear you're getting engaged," the blonde stated suddenly.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts and blinked dazedly. "Uh…yeah, I am."

"To the Weasley girl I presume?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, his brow furrowing.

Malfoy nodded solemnly. "And, you're happy with her?"

There was a long pause. "What would you care about my happiness?" Harry asked, his tone sharp. "From what I remember, you always seemed pretty determined to make my life miserable."

The Slytherin gave a hollow laugh, "And from what I remember I did quite a good job. We were never meant to live in harmony you know." Malfoy said it as if there was something more to his words—some secret meaning that Harry felt he should've grasped.

"Malfoy…" Harry began, but he trailed off, not even knowing what he had been meaning to ask.

"Harry," Malfoy looked down at his interlaced fingers, and suddenly there it was again—that chink in the cold armor. "I want you to know…that I'm sorry for all of the things I did to you—all of the shit I put you through. All I ever wanted was—well—it doesn't matter, but I'm sorry." And then it was gone again, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"You're…sorry?" Harry repeated dumbly, because he didn't know what else to say. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that such a word would come from the lips of a Malfoy. He didn't like it. It made him feel nervous—it made him feel like he had to forgive Malfoy for all the things he'd done. But he didn't want to forgive Malfoy. He couldn't. Not because of a word.

"Your hour's almost up, you know."

Harry frowned and pulled back his sleeve to glance at his wristwatch. Sure enough, he had a little less than ten minutes left.

"I do hope you found out what you wanted to know," Malfoy said, suddenly sporting a sneer.

But Harry hadn't found out what he'd wanted to know, probably because he hadn't really come here knowing what he wanted to find out in the first place. In fact, he probably had more questions now than he had before, which didn't settle well with him. After a long pause and some very intense battling between instinct and curiosity, Harry said, "Do you mind if I come by again?"

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly. "Why?"

Harry shrugged stiffly. "Because I still have some questions."

"And you think I'll answer them?" Malfoy asked with a snort.

"Why wouldn't you? You should be just as freaked out about this as I am."

"Is that so?" Malfoy replied, grinning. "Oh, Potter, I must confess I missed how you assume you know everything. It makes you look like more of an idiot than you really are."

Harry's temper flared, "Fine! Stay in here and rot for all I care!"

"I will."

Harry's next words fell from his tongue and his whole body went suddenly still.

Malfoy stood up once more and walked over to the window. He stood there for quite some time, simply staring into the midmorning sun. "I like this room," he said softly, "It's nice—simple, and quiet. I have room to think in here, and I haven't been able to think for a really long time. Everything's so clear…and the voice…but it won't stay gone long. It'll come back. I won't be able to stand it coming back. I'm so tired of it all."

"Malfoy?"

"Can you hear him? He's trying to get in."

"Malfoy," Harry said, frightened by the blonde's sudden delusion. "I can't hear anything. There are no voices."

"There are. You can't come in. I'll kill myself this time."

Harry's heart lurched as he stepped forward, pressing himself against the glass, "Malfoy stop! You're trying to scare me off and it won't work! You're not going to kill yourself!"

Malfoy turned his head and stared at Harry with shallow empty eyes, "No. I can't now…but I'll find a way." His eyes shifted upwards to focus on a spot just over Harry's shoulder. "Good morning, Mr. Tenneal. Come to collect Potter have you? Just as well. He was beginning to bore me."

Harry glanced back frantically. The man who had brought him here, whom Malfoy called Tenneal, was motioning for him to follow. But he couldn't. He had to know why he'd had that dream—he had to know why there was this feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was supposed to be here. He turned back towards the blonde, but he was looking out the window again.

"Malfoy, listen, I'm coming back tomorrow and you damn well better be here!"

"Mr. Potter," Tenneal said quietly from behind, "your hour is up."

"Malfoy! Are you listening to me? Malfoy, you selfish prick, answer me!"

A large hand grabbed his arm and pulled back, hard. Harry was practically launched backwards towards the door, but his eyes didn't leave Malfoy's face.

"Malfoy!"

There was something missing there—some translucence he'd never seen before. There was a lack of vitality in his expression, and, perhaps more frighteningly, there was a lack of will to find it.

"MALFOY!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Angst angst angst...what will our poor boys do? The next chapter will be from Draco's POV (I plan on alternating)!<p>

**Reviews are the perfect remedy for Draco's suicidal thoughts...or so the nurses at St. Mungo's told me! *ahem* :)**


	3. The Way It Was

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Ugh...why does the beginning of school always suck? Two programs due in the first week? So not cool. Lucky I have Harry and Draco to lift my spirits!

Thanks much to **ThexBlairxWitch**, the best beta ever! All mistakes you see are-needless to say-all mine.

NOTE! This chapter and the next two (or so?) were originally written as dialogue only chapters but because I didn't want to change the style of the story I went back in and added description, so please forgive the abnormal lack of...descriptionyness. Alright! Onward ho!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_And how can I pretend I never knew you_

_Like it was all a dream, no_

_I know I'll never forget_

_The way I always felt with you beside me_

_And how you loved me then, yeah_

_I'll never be the same_

_I'm caught inside the memories_

_The promises, our yesterdays_

_I just can't walk away_

_'Cause after loving you_

_I can never be the same_

-Red

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Draco was annoyingly unsurprised when Harry Potter walked through his door the very next morning. The Gryffindor Golden Boy was predictable like that. He wasn't the type to give up on anything, especially lost causes—let him see a wounded animal and of course he'd try to save it, even if it couldn't be saved.<p>

"Morning, Malfoy," Harry said timidly.

"Hello, Potter," Draco smirked despite himself, "I see you're looking quite windswept this morning." More like torturously edible. Fate _would_ have Harry show up in his Quidditch robes. Draco slithered towards the glass that separated them, his body purring. Harry was dressed in Puddlemere's blue and gold robes, which were tastefully trimmed with leather in all the right places, and his cheeks were bright from the undoubtedly rigorous workout he'd just endured.

The other boy shifted nervously under the Draco's predatory gaze, "Yeah, um…I had Quidditch practice."

"I figured."

Harry laughed, albeit awkwardly. He was probably still embarrassed by his outbreak yesterday. Draco hadn't known what to make of it. Frankly it had almost made him think that the Gryffindor might remember something of what he'd felt before, even if the memories weren't there to match. But it wasn't true. It wasn't possible. All the better, though.

"You seem better today."

Draco raised a brow. "Do I?"

Harry nodded and lowered his gaze, his dark hair falling forward to cover his eyes, "Tenneal told me—well—I asked him about you and he told me you've been hearing things."

The blonde barely suppressed a snort. So the mediwizards were spying on him now, where they? "How nice of him to go around spreading information he knows nothing about."

"He means well. He's worried about you."

"Just what I need," Draco replied bitterly. If only they all knew just how worried they should really be. But it was probably better this way—letting them think he'd gone mad. Hell, maybe he was. The spell wasn't supposed to have worked. _How_ could it have worked? It wasn't possible.

The Seeker chanced a step closer to the barrier that divided them. His green eyes were bright with a barely concealed feeling, "What do they say?"

"Who?"

"The voices. What do they say when they talk to you?"

"Oh," Draco took a step back, then two more, "There's just one actually." Harry didn't respond, but his gaze was imploring. So Draco continued, however warily, "He doesn't say much, but there's a lot to what he says. He doesn't need words to talk."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"No?" Draco said, half to himself, "Well I guess it wouldn't if no one has ever talked to you like that before."

There was another pregnant pause, "So, it's a him then?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever seen him?"

Draco hesitated. He shouldn't be talking about these things. "I have."

"What does he look like?"

But this was Harry, and—Merlin help him—he could never deny Harry anything. Draco didn't know why that was exactly. Maybe it was because of the way Harry had always looked at him, as if he could see right into him and flay his soul. "He looks…something like you."

Harry's emerald eyes sharpened, and the Slytherin felt his heart quicken.

"Like me?" Harry said, sounding choked. "Why?"

"I certainly don't know, Potter," Draco snapped, hoping anger would make him sound more confident, "To torment me I expect. And now with the real you coming here, I may _actually_ go mad!" Oh, if Harry could only see the horrid truth behind those words—how completely backwards it all was.

Harry looked down, twisting his hands in such a way that Draco knew he was nervous. "I thought a lot about the dream after I left yesterday, and I think you sent it to me without meaning to. Maybe—maybe because of this voice, or vision, or whatever it is, and you had to get it out somehow." Harry glanced back up then, his expression bleakly hopeful.

Draco could only laugh darkly, "How very philosophical of you, Potter, figuring all that out on your own. But you really should just leave it alone."

"You only say that because you know something."

"If I did, don't you think I would have told you?"

"No," Harry returned so sharply and so quickly that Draco was rendered silent, stung. "Of course you wouldn't tell me. Why in the world would you? You've never cared about anyone but yourself, and I hope you know that all that Malfoy pride is going to get you into some real trouble one day."

The blonde somehow managed to collect himself enough to sneer. If there was one thing he had to thank his father for, it was his lessons on keeping a calm and cool demeanor. Because the truth of it was, his nerves were in a frenzy, and he couldn't help the inescapable feeling that he was spiraling downward into the eyes that stared at him with such ferocity. Every inch of him was frenetic and alive and trying to pull away. But he reigned it all in—buried it deep in the pit of his stomach, and made himself forget the wonderful abandon of a single touch, and the sweet smell of grass and wind, and the soft butterfly pressure of a kiss. He had to do it…because Harry didn't see him anymore. Not like that. Even so—even to just have him here was like a sweet nectar to his parched senses. To have him this close…to wake up and have this reality was almost like…but no. Draco clenched his teeth and forced the feeling down deeper.

"It's already gotten me into trouble," he said truthfully, "but I'm not hiding from it anymore. I want it to find me."

Harry's eyes narrowed. With a small huff of indignation, the Seeker crossed his arms and glared at Draco through the glass pane, "Why?"

"Just get out of here why don't you, Potter?"

"No."

Draco pressed his eyes shut, squeezing the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, "Why not?"

"Because you know something about that dream I had."

The blonde's eyes flew open and he charged towards the barrier, "I don't!" They were close now—so close that Draco knew that if they were anywhere else he would've been able to feel Harry's heated breath pooling against his face. His skin prickled strangely at the thought, as if it could remember the feeling.

"You do!" Harry barked, snapping Draco from his reverie. "And I deserve to know too!"

The Slytherin very nearly smiled. The other boy was being stubborn as always, to the point of single-minded stupidity. Harry wasn't here because of the dream, not really. Draco knew. He was here because he simply got it in his mind to come, and he was too much of a prat to realize how idiotic he was being. It was one of Harry's more endearing qualities. Sometimes. When it wasn't getting him into trouble. Like now.

Harry pressed his mouth into a hard, thin line, "Why did you try to kill yourself, Malfoy? And what's it got to do with me?"

"None of your business and nothing," the blonde replied tersely.

"I'm making it my business, and bullshit," Harry retorted, poised for a fight.

Draco regarded him for a calculating moment. "What makes you think it has anything to do with you, Potter? Still on that massive ego-trip that got you so much attention at school?"

"I saw things, Malfoy," Harry hissed threateningly.

"Saw things?"

"In my dream—that time in Diagon Alley. You reading about my engagement."

Draco's heart stuttered. Apparently Harry remembered more than he'd initially let on. "That hardly means anything." He knew immediately after he said it that he'd been caught. The statement had been too kind—too vague, and Harry knew it.

"You know," Harry began to pace, his expression sharp, "I remember that day in Diagon Alley. I remember seeing you there."

Draco swallowed several times, sure his heart was trying to leap up his throat. Calm. Control. "Yes, if I remember correctly, you shoved me rather brutishly to the ground. I was wearing new robes, you know."

"You always wear new robes," Harry replied without skipping a beat.

Draco blinked, "Of course I do. No point in washing them when you can just buy a new set." How…surely Harry wouldn't have noticed something so insignificant as that. Even before.

"And I didn't shove you."

"Choose whatever word you like," Draco said, trying to keep his drawl steady. "Pushed suits the situation just fine by my standards, though manhandled may work better for you."

The blonde saw Harry's chest bow out. He was getting mad. Good, he couldn't think as clearly when he was angry.

"I remember the way you looked at me."

Then again, anger might suit Harry's mind just fine.

"You looked like a muggle who'd just seen a ghost."

"I'm quite sure I can't properly appreciate that analogy."

Harry's eyes hardened, "You looked scared. Was that put simply enough for you to understand, Malfoy?" He said his name just like he always used to back at Hogwarts, as if there wasn't a worse word to be said.

"I was on an errand and I didn't have my wand on me," Draco foiled quickly, desperately trying to hold himself together, "Given our background, don't you think I had reason to feel a little anxious?"

"You think I would've attacked you?"

"You have before, or don't you remember nearly killing me?" It was a low blow, and something that had been almost too easy to say. The words had just slipped off his tongue like and oil slick. He knew Harry well enough to know what hurt him the most, just as Harry likewise knew what would hurt him the most, though he may not realize it anymore. But what else was he supposed to say? The truth? The truth wasn't even an option. So he would play this part of the boy Harry once knew…because that was the only thing he could think to do.

He saw the flash of pain in Harry's eyes, and Draco's heart mirrored the emotion with a sharp pang. "You were going to throw the first curse, Malfoy. You would've cast an Unforgivable."

"Well that makes what you did just fine, then. Nobody could blame you if you had an excuse like that."

"It wasn't an excuse!"

Draco felt his resolve crack at the sight of the Gryffindor's tortured expression, but he pressed on. "So you would've tried to kill me anyway then?"

"No!" Harry was fuming now, "I wasn't trying to kill you! I never wanted to kill you!"

"Then why—"

"I'm not going to talk about this anymore!" Harry stared at him with large terrified eyes. His face was overly pale, and his chest rose and fell too rapidly with his quick shallow breaths. With the glass between them, he looked so frozen and untouchable, and so pallidly beautiful. "Why are you avoiding my questions?"

Draco crossed his arms, "I'm not."

"I'm going to come back here every day until you tell me what's going on!"

"That bored with your life are you?"

There was a strange pause, and the Slytherin realized that he'd struck a nerve. But that was impossible. How could he have? Harry was supposed to be happy now.

Just then, the door swung open. The hour was up.

Harry sighed deeply and furrowed his brow, "I'll be back."

"You won't be, if you know what's good for you," Draco replied half-heartedly.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

That night was a dark one, and as Draco stared out his window up at the moonless sky, he pondered upon his life and the ineffability of fate.

"Are you pleased?" a familiar voice said from behind. Draco turned to see Harry sitting on the edge of his bed, grinning…only, it wasn't Harry.

"No," the Slytherin replied sharply, glaring at the other, "and I thought I told you to leave me alone."

Harry rose from the bed with inhuman fluidity and grace. He glided up to Draco, sliding his long slender fingers up the blonde's chest. Draco shuddered despite himself and stared into the other boy's deep black eyes.

Harry's grin turned feral. "Come now, you can't get rid of me as easily as that." His head dipped down, and Draco suddenly felt the pressure of ice-cold lips at his neck. "You summoned me remember?" His breath felt sharp and magnetic, like static electricity, "And your blood tasted so good." A cold wet tongue flicked across the ivory skin of Draco's neck.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Draco said softly.

Harry's head whipped back up. "Sorry, but cancelling a deal isn't an option." He didn't sound at all sorry. "You can't just renege on a pact with a demon."

"I can…if I let you kill me."

The demon managed to pout and look threatening at the same time. "Come now, you're so close. You did the ritual so beautifully, standing over your parents' graves like that. Not everyone can wield magic like that, you know, and now you want to waste it all?" His long fingers curled against the fabric of Draco's shirt, "I can get you out of here…I can give you Harry back. I can give him his memories back. I can give you one long year with him. And I can make a year seem like a lifetime."

Draco flinched away from the demon's touch, "It wasn't supposed to work. My father's book collection is a completely bogus arsenal of lore. How was I supposed to know that the one spell in that library that could actually solve my problem would work?"

"But none of that matters, because it _did_ work. You brought me here, and like it or not I'm here to stay." The demon reached out for Draco again, "And why does that have to be such a bad thing? I _know_ you want Harry, so why not take him?"

"So what?" Draco hissed, "I sacrifice his happiness for my own? I don't know if you can properly appreciate the irony of all of this."

The demon ignored him. "Did he seem happy to you? Tell me, Draco," he purred," if he's so happy, why did he leave his melodious life to come and see you?"

There was a heavy pause. "Because _you_ sent him that dream. You're the one who made him come here."

The demon's already black eyes seemed to darken, like a shadow spreading over a midnight sky, "I only showed him the truth."

"A version of it. He thought I'd been trying to kill myself."

"Hadn't you been trying to?"

Draco remained silent.

"And as for _making_ him come here, I did no such thing. The annoying thing about you humans, you see, is a little thing called free will. I could never force Harry to come here. I did, however, put the idea into his head, adding maybe, a touch of determination and a drop of stubbornness. But what it boils down to, Draco, is that Harry really did want to come here. You think your silly little memory magic can erase such things?"

"You're trying to trick me," the blonde replied too quickly.

The demon scoffed, "Ah yes. Trickery. Deceit. What else are demons good for?" He started forward, pressing the Slytherin back, and the air in the room seemed to take on a sudden chill, "You humans are so set with the way you think the world works. Well, Draco, you know very little. I want your soul and that's all there is to it. Why do I want it? Because souls taste so much better than blood. Souls are what make demons strong, and if I could, I would take yours from you right now. But as it is, I can't. An exchange must be made—a deal, so to speak. So the idea is, I give you what you want, and I get your soul. No lies. No tricks. No deceit. Just pure simple facts."

Draco stood, his blood colder than ice and self-loathing churning in his stomach. "I should never have done this. I should never have tried to summon you."

"Ah, but you did, because deep down you really are a coward aren't you." Harry's blood red lips curled into a smile.

The blonde's jaw tightened, "I don't deny that."

"You have to make a choice, Draco."

"I don't."

Harry hissed and charged forward once more. Startled, Draco sprang back and felt his shoulders hit the wall. The demon pounded his fists into the wall on either side of Draco's head, trapping him. He leaned forward, his teeth bared and sharp, and his eyes gleaming with a rancid lust.

"The fact of the matter is," the demon spat, his voice like acid, "you _did_ summon me, and I'm not just going to go away. As good as I can make life for you, I can make it ten-times as bad. You will do this thing."

It took every ounce of Draco's strength and courage to keep his voice level and his expression blank, "You don't scare me. Kill me for all I care."

"Or kill Harry."

The room stiffened with a frozen silence.

"Killing him…slowly…deftly—ripping the skin from his body piece by piece."

Rage rose in the Slytherin's chest like fire, "I swear, you touch him and I'll—"

"You'll what? Kill me?" The demon laughed, but the sound was hollow and empty, "Draco, you're trapped. So we can either do this your way, or we can do this the smart way—my way. Think about it."

And in a blink he was gone, leaving Draco alone in the empty white room with the glass wall.

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Poor Draco...he just can't catch a break!<p>

**Reviews lead to Harry/Draco love!**


	4. A Game of Trust

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: So I'm posting this early...just 'cause I'm bored annnnnnnd that's about it lol ^_^ Hope everyone enjoys!

Thanks much to **ThexBlairxWitch**, the best beta ever! All mistakes you see are-needless to say-all mine.

NOTE! This chapter and the next one (or so?) were originally written as dialogue only chapters but because I didn't want to change the style of the story I went back in and added description, so please forgive the abnormal lack of...descriptionyness. Alright! Onward ho!

* * *

><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_You're waiting for someone to put you together_

_You're waiting for someone to push you away_

_There's always another wound to discover_

_There's always something more you wish he'd say_

_But you'll just sit tight, and watch it unwind_

_It's only what you're asking for_

_And you'll be just fine with all of your time_

_It's only what you're waiting for_

-Vertical Horizon

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>"Morning, Malfoy."<p>

"Leave."

Harry sighed, walking into the small white room and closing the door behind him. "Well that's not very nice. I'm your guest."

Malfoy turned from his usual spot at the window, a sneer marring the line of his lips, "Funny, I don't remember inviting you."

"Short term memory loss?" Harry offered humorously, trying to smile. His smile faded, however, when he saw the blonde's shoulders tense.

"Is that a self-diagnosis? What are you doing here this time?"

Harry walked farther into the white room and conjured a chair a couple of feet from the glass. Biting his lip, he sat, "I told you I was going to be here every day until you tell me what's going on."

With a dissatisfied huff, Malfoy's gaze returned to the morning sky. Bright sunlight streamed down through the window, basking the blonde's face in a mural of yellows and oranges, broken only by the shadow of the bars. "I was hoping I'd hallucinated that part." He pushed out a heavy breath, "Pity I'm more sane than everyone here thinks."

Harry frowned, and shifted uncomfortably in the hard, slightly lumpy seat of his chair. He could already tell this was going to be an uncomfortable visit. "All you have to do to get me to leave is answer the questions I ask."

"I already have."

"Not truthfully."

The blonde turned once more, glaring, "You have no way of knowing that."

"Slytherin," Harry rebutted without skipping a beat.

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten," Malfoy seethed, "my house restricts all forms of truth, scum of the earth that we are."

Harry said nothing, which only seemed to nettle Malfoy's already agitated nerves.

"I do hope I can live up to your low opinion of us."

"You already have." Harry felt his heart twinge with regret at the statement, and he didn't miss the strange flash of hurt that ghosted over the other boy's pale gaze.

"You do realize your own idiocy about all of this don't you? You come here asking questions, getting answers, and then asking the same questions again because you don't believe the answers you originally received. Tell me, where does the cycle end? Seems to me we're just going in circles."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again. What could he say, really? Malfoy was right, and Harry knew why. "That's only because we don't trust each other."

Malfoy snorted, "Well spotted, Potter."

"Well, then I guess the only way you'll get rid of me is to make me trust you."

The blonde simply stared at him, his expression blank and unreadable, "You're joking, right?"

"No?"

"Potter, you can't just—there's no way. Or do you not remember all the things we've done to each other?"

The Seeker wrung his hands together and pushed down the wave of anger that rose in his chest. "I don't remember a lot of things actually." His eyes flickered downwards briefly, "They had a big article about it in the Daily Prophet. I'm sure you heard about it…how I fell."

Something caused the muscles in Malfoy's jaw to tighten, "I remember hearing something."

Harry nodded, "It was stupid really. About a year ago, I fell down some stairs and hit my head. The two months before the fall are a complete and total blank, and some things before are a bit blurred. Hermione and Ron have told me what they could but…" he trailed off. He didn't know why, but he had never really come to terms with what had happened. How could he? A part of his life had been erased.

"But what?"

Harry's eyes met Malfoy's, and he felt his heart quiver, "It's like there's a piece of me that's missing—a piece of me that I've lost."

"Oh," the blonde nodded and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I've never told anyone that before."

Malfoy's gaze was back on him in an instant, raw with pain. But within a blink the look was gone, and Harry wondered if he had even seen it there at all. The blonde sneered, "Am I supposed to feel all privileged now?"

"No, definitely not," the Gryffindor laughed, somehow unperturbed by Malfoy's cruel expression. It had actually felt nice to tell someone, and he vaguely wondered why he hadn't before.

"Good."

"Yeah."

Silence.

Malfoy swallowed thickly, and took a couple of steps towards the glass. He was still looking at Harry, with those cool grey eyes that reminded the Seeker of something he couldn't quite name. It made Harry's blood tingle beneath his skin, and he could feel his pulse quicken with every move that brought the blonde closer. Malfoy licked his lips, "So…I've always thought you were very brave."

Harry started, blushing at the realization that he'd been watching the other boy's lips, "What?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Well—no—I just…that was really random."

"You told me something you'd never told anyone so I thought it was only fair that I do the same," Malfoy's brow furrowed, as if he didn't quite agree with what he was saying but had decided to say it anyway.

Harry grappled for words, but his tongue battled him every step of the way, "You really think I'm brave?"

"I never said I didn't think it stemmed from your extreme stupidity."

The Gryffindor decidedly ignored the other boy's comment, "I don't think I've ever heard you give a compliment before."

"That's because I don't give them. That wasn't a compliment; it was a thought."

"It was nice."

The blonde huffed.

Harry shifted in his seat once more, a thoughtful smile curling his lips, "I've always wished I was blonde."

Malfoy blinked at him, as if Harry's words hadn't quite registered. "You what?"

"I'm returning the favor. Your turn?"

"Potter, you can't just turn this into some sort of game!" The blonde gestured, throwing his arms out and charging towards the glass. The usually pale curves of his cheeks were now dusted with an angry red, but instead of being intimidated, Harry was rather amused.

The Gryffindor grinned up at the other boy, "Why not?"

"Because—just because!"

Harry shook his head, "That's not a reason."

"Potter, you really are an idiot you know that?" Malfoy paused thoughtfully, straightening his already crisply starched sleeve, "And you would've looked horrible as a blonde. You're not pale enough."

There was a beat of silence. "Well, yeah, of course I'm not, if you're comparing me to you."

"I'm not pale. I'm _porcelain_."

"Like a ghost." Harry couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up his throat. He felt strange, like this was normal too—like he'd done this before.

"It's not my fault I don't tan!"

"…Have you tried?"

"No…maybe."

"Turned as red as a beet, didn't you."

"I am _not_ having this discussion with you, Potter. Will you please just get out of here and leave me alone? I'm a Slytherin and I just said please—that's how desperate I am!"

Harry shrugged, quite unmoved by the blonde's plea, "I'm sorry, do you have some other engagement?"

"Don't toy with me, Potter," Malfoy sneered.

"I thought not."

"This is still my room!"

"I'd say only half of it is really yours, so I'll stay out of that half."

"I don't remember you being this much of a prick back at Hogwarts."

"Things change."

"Not you!"

There was a strained pause, as the ease of their snarky banter seemed to shatter. Harry's heart fluttered painfully in his chest as he stared into the Slytherin's fervent grey eyes. Somewhere along the way this had become serious, but the problem was, Harry wasn't quite sure when.

"Malfoy?"

"What?" Malfoy's voice was sharper than before.

"I think the question was implied by my tone."

Malfoy looked away and stepped back, something in his expression changing ever so slightly, "I used to be afraid of heights."

Harry blinked, "What in the world has that got to do with anything?"

"I've never told anyone that before."

Harry's next response caught in his throat.

"When I was young I hated flying, but my father hired me a trainer and made me fly anyway. And then one day I fell off. I broke an arm and two ribs," –the blonde's brows came together in thought—, "and I wasn't afraid anymore after that."

"You do realize you're off your rocker, right?" Harry said, trying desperately to keep his control over the strange feeling of trepidation that was sweeping through him.

Malfoy looked at him once more, "Perhaps."

Something was going on here—something deeper than the questions Harry was asking and the answers he knew Malfoy wasn't giving. Harry felt torn, like he knew what words he was supposed to say and what feelings he was supposed to feel, but they were getting away from him somehow. This was different from how they had been at Hogwarts. The difference was subtle, but it was there nonetheless, nagging at the back of Harry's mind.

"Fine," Harry said finally, "I'll drop the questions about my dream for now, but know that I still believe you're up to something and that I'm going to figure out what it is. There isn't anything to protect you anymore."

Malfoy smirked, seemingly amused by Harry's rant. He eyed the room up and down thoughtfully, "Except the glass. I don't think that's going anywhere."

"It won't be there when you get out of here."

The blonde hummed absently. "It's your turn, isn't it?"

"Right." Harry frowned, wishing that Malfoy was looking at him again but not knowing why, "Erm—I've always wanted to learn how to ride a bike."

"Ride a what?" Malfoy did look at him then, and the Seeker felt a shock race down his spine.

"A bike," Harry replied slowly, distracted, "It's a Muggle device used for transportation. It's usually made of metal and has two wheels—one in the front and one in the back—that you have to use pedals to turn."

"Pedals?"

"Yeah. You put your feet on these pads attached to the gears and then move your legs in circles to make the wheels spin."

"Sounds," Malfoy cleared his throat with the hint of a smirk, "intricate. Is it fast?"

Harry thought about it, "Well, no not really."

"Can it fly?"

"No."

"Then what's the point?"

"I don't know—it's fun, I guess?"

Malfoy hummed once more.

They sat in silence for Harry didn't know how long. He vaguely wondered what Malfoy was thinking—he wondered if the Slytherin was experiencing these strange feelings too. Not that they really meant anything. If Harry was feeling odd, it was only because of the dream. Or so he told himself.

"I've always wanted to learn an instrument," Malfoy said softly.

"An instrument?" Harry repeated.

The blonde nodded, "I would've chosen the clarinet, I think."

"And you never told anyone this?"

"No one ever asked," the other boy replied without pause.

Harry glowered but said nothing.

"There are a lot of things I've never told anyone. Slytherins generally like to keep to themselves. And besides that, what would anyone else care if I wanted to play an instrument?"

"I don't know," Harry said, wringing his hands together once more, "aren't those the kinds of things you tell your friends?"

"You're asking like I would know."

"You had friends."

"Friendship and loyalty are two different things, Potter, wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose."

The blonde smiled, apparently pleased, "So I think I'm going to be much better at this game than you." He ambled over to his bed and perched himself gingerly on the edge of it. Gracefully, the blonde leaned back, his face curving up to look at the ceiling as his foot swung idly back and forth, just barely scuffing the ground.

Harry's eyes traveled along the strong line of Malfoy's jaw and down to the gentle curving slope of his neck. His skin seemed so pale—so flawlessly smooth, gleaming like fresh snow caught in the morning sun. Harry's throat seemed to tighten against his voice, "Maybe."

Malfoy smirked, but his eyes didn't leave the ceiling, "Guess I've finally beaten you at something."

"I think you should try the piano."

The blonde's foot stopped swinging, "The piano?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "For some reason I think it would suit you."

Malfoy laughed softly and sat back up to balance his forearms on his knees. He looked at Harry with a skeptical sneer, "Well, considering your opinion of me, I don't exactly understand your reason for the pairing."

Harry flushed, somehow feeling very small under the other boy's gaze, "I think it's your hands. You have piano hands."

"What in the world does that mean?"

"People with long thin fingers are said to have piano hands. You," Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, "have long thin fingers."

"I didn't know you'd studied my hands."

Harry's stomach did a nervous flip and he felt himself jerk forward in his seat, "I haven't!"

"Is that why you're blushing?"

"I'm not!" But he was. He could feel his blood pooling in his cheeks, hot and undeniable.

"No need to get so upset." Malfoy raised his hands defensively, but there was the slightest hint of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth, "You could always leave you know."

The Seeker frowned, "Whose turn is it?"

"Yours, I think."

"Oh."

Malfoy raised an expectant brow.

"Um…my favorite color is green."

"I already knew that. Try again."

"You didn't know that! I've always told everybody my favorite color is red!"

"I know."

Harry blinked.

"You're not that hard to figure out, Potter, contrary to what you may think. Green is associated with Slytherin, and red with Gryffindor—of course you would tell people that you prefer red." A soft moment of silence hung between them before Malfoy spoke again, "I bet green reminds you of your mother, doesn't it."

Harry could feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest. This wasn't right. Malfoy wasn't saying any of those things like he was guessing—he was saying them like he _knew_. There was no hint of hesitation in his voice—no flicker of doubt in his cool grey eyes. _But, how in the world…_"How do you know that?"

"If that freaks you out, I won't dare venture into the other things I know about you."

"Malfoy, that's a little beyond creepy."

"You have no idea," the blonde replied ruefully.

"What else do you know?"

"Trying to change the game already? Come now, Potter, you're not as sore a loser as that are you? I had hoped that the day I beat you would come with more fight. Ah, now, I know that surly look. The fun's about to begin."

The Seeker had to bite down on his lip to keep from snarling. Malfoy was just trying to egg him on, he was sure, yet even so Harry couldn't help but wonder how the other boy was able to read him so well. Was he really so obvious? But then again, when he thought about it, perhaps there were some things Malfoy had been obvious about as well, "You never liked being a Seeker."

"So we _are_ changing the game then? I do love déjà vu. I'll still win you know."

"You only played that position so you could play against me."

"Well somebody's full of themselves."

"I bet nobody had ever said no to you before me."

That seemed to render the blonde silent.

"That first day of school," Harry continued, his eyes narrowing, "that burnt you pretty bad didn't it?" The words were coming now, without rhyme or reason. They were just rushing up his throat, like he knew what to say without even having to think.

Malfoy's expression darkened, "I was too young to actually realize what I was feeling."

"And what was that exactly?"

A peculiar darkness swept across the blonde's gaze, and his brow pulled together in some tainted brooding thought, "Do you ever wonder what it would've been like had you picked Slytherin? If we were friends? I wonder sometimes if I would've changed you, or if it would've been the other way around."

"You said…if I had picked Slytherin, like I had a choice in the matter. The hat chooses."

"No," Malfoy's eyes flashed like blades caught in the sun, "_You_ chose. You knew who you were and what you wanted when you sat on that stool—the hat was just the thing that told everyone else. You could've been in Slytherin, if you wanted to."

Harry didn't respond.

"Speechless in the face of truth?"

"I could never have chosen Slytherin."

"Keep telling yourself that, Potter."

"Malfoy—"

"Ah, Mr. Tenneal, back so soon?"

Harry turned in his seat to see Tenneal standing in the doorway, looking at hime expectantly. Sighing heavily, the Seeker stood, "I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

"Don't bother."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Always with the angst X3<p>

Oh, and as a side note I've started posting an original story on FictionPress! There's a link to it on my profile if anybody wants to check it out :)

**Pwease review!**


	5. Forbidden Fruit

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: School is probably the lamest thing...ever.

Infinite thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch**, my favorite beta ever! I doubt this would be readable without her *nods*

This should be the last dialogue based chapter, which does in fact mean that this is the last chapter that will take place at St. Mungo's. Gasp!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_It's like over and over, you're pushing me right down to the floor_

_I should just walk away_

_Over and over, I keep on coming back for more_

_I play into your fantasy_

_Now that it's over, you can lie to me right through your smile_

_I've seen behind your eyes_

_Now that I'm sober, no more intoxicating my mind_

_Even the devil wouldn't recognize you, but I do_

-Madonna

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>"Morning, Malfoy."<p>

Draco rolled over in his bed and sat up slowly, stretching his limbs in a languid attempt to ease the knots that plagued his muscles. St. Mungo's certainly didn't seem to worry about their mattress expenses. Draco rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared at Harry tiredly. "Has it been a day already? How dreadfully fast time flies."

Harry smiled, apparently amused, and the Slytherin was overwhelmingly aware of the way his heart stuttered. He silently cursed the other boy for doing this to him…all over again.

"I had another dream last night," Harry said softly, conjuring up another rather unstable looking chair and taking a seat.

Draco sat up a little straighter. The demon. "About?"

Harry's eyes found the floor, "About you."

The blonde pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to keep the questions at bay.

"We were playing Quidditch at the Weasleys'. You were on my team, and you played Keeper…"

Draco's heart was thundering in his chest.

"And then we went inside, and Mrs. Weasley made dinner and…" The Gryffindor shook his head as his eyes met Draco's once more, "I don't know, but there was something about it that felt so _real_—just like before."

Thoughts were swirling in Draco's mind like a whirlwind. So the demon really could break through the spell, just like he had said. He had come to Draco again last night. He always came. And he had asked once more for Draco to make a choice—well, saying that he had asked was perhaps giving him too much credit. Draco had somehow managed to swindle another day out of the demon yet again, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. Talented liar though the Slytherin may be, the demon wasn't stupid. Draco was going to have to make a decision, and soon.

Of course, Draco knew he could wish for something else—anything else. He could wish for the ability to transfigure into a blood-sucking bugbear for all the demon cared. But the thing was…he hadn't. He _hadn't_ wished for anything else. Merlin help him, how could he? Harry was so close now, and though he tried to deny it, Draco knew he would give anything to take back what he had done just to see those emerald eyes light up for him once more. He would give anything—even his soul.

But nothing was concrete yet. He could still find a way out of this. The deal still hadn't been made. He'd made Harry forget for a _reason_, and he needed to remember that.

"But it wasn't real," Draco replied dryly. "That never happened."

Harry seemed to hesitate, and Draco fretfully wondered if Harry still had the uncanny ability to tell when something was upsetting him. "What if it's—I don't know—the future or something?"

"Think you're a diviner now?"

"No, it's just—"

"I'm sure it was just a dream, Potter," Draco said, willing it to be true.

"It wasn't."

"How do you know?"

"I could tell!" Harry flared, jumping to his feet in an instant.

The lie was on the tip of Draco's tongue, but he couldn't force it out. He stared at Harry with a dark, forlorn feeling in his chest.

"I told you about my accident," the Seeker continued, the anger in his voice barely contained, "I told you how I can't remember. Malfoy," Harry took a tentative step towards the glass, "did something happen between us then?"

For a moment, Draco's pulse flew. He took a deep ragged breath and tried to settle the flutterings in his stomach. Harry was just asking a simple question. There was no need to get nervous yet. He was getting ahead of himself. "What do you mean?"

"Like, did we talk—at all?"

"No." The word sounded shaky.

Harry's lips flattened into a stern line and his brow tightened in thought, "But that day…in Diagon Alley…"

"We've already talked about that."

"And I still think you're lying."

"Well, I'm not."

"Then why did you change the subject?" Harry's cheeks were flushed again, and his emerald eyes burned like a cold fire.

"Because you have no business being here," the blonde retorted coolly.

"That dream gives me plenty—"

"It was a DREAM, Potter, for Merlin's sake! Why do you need it to be anything more?"

"Because of you!"

Harry froze, and Draco was quite sure he wouldn't have been able to move even if he'd wanted to. Blood was rushing through the Slytherin's ears like the dull beat of a drum, and he could almost feel the cold chill of the demon's breath slithering down the back of his neck, taunting him.

Harry shrank back towards his chair, his shoulders hunching with embarrassment, "Sorry…don't know why I said that."

The blonde kept his silence. He refused to acknowledge how incredibly tortuous all this really was. To have Harry here—talking about things that once were. The hope drove Draco mad. How badly he wanted Harry as he remembered him, and how within reach it all was. The destruction of the safe world Draco had built for Harry dangled before him like a forbidden fruit. How ironic it was that he, a serpent, was being so sorely tempted.

"Tenneal said they're keeping you here another week."

"Did he?" Draco replied absentmindedly.

"He said you've been talking to yourself a lot."

The blonde shook himself, gathering his wits once more. He was stronger than this. With a determined sigh, he forced his best Slytherin smirk, "Yes well, the company otherwise is sparse and rather dull. One thermometer joke to a nurse and all of a sudden I'm the psychotic outcast."

"But you really do hear that voice, don't you?"

"The problem isn't _that_ the voice is there, Potter, it's _why_. Why is all anyone cares about."

"Well, why is it there?"

"Because it won't go away."

Harry glared at him, though much to the blonde's dismay the look held little spark, "You're being obstinate."

"Yes well, I'm half loopy aren't I—according to the Daily Prophet, at least."

"Forget it then," Harry huffed.

"Oh, I don't forget anything, unfortunately."

Harry approached the glass slowly, looking as if he would spring back at any moment if necessary. He stared at Draco, hard, and the blonde felt a small chill of desire run down his spine. There was so much intensity trapped behind those eyes, and the blonde could feel his very blood drawn to it like metal to a magnet.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile."

"I don't smile much," Draco replied dumbly, still trapped in Harry's stare.

"You smiled in my dream."

"And your knees went weak, I imagine?"

Harry was silent just a fraction too long, "It was strange is all—that I would see it in a dream without ever having seen it in person."

Damn but the boy was clever when he wanted to be. Not to mention stubborn. But why? Why did he want to figure out this dream so badly? But, deep down, the Slytherin knew why: because it was the exact same thing he would've done had he been in Harry's shoes. "You know," Draco said with a cruel sneer, "I think I know what this is."

Harry blinked, distracted, "Hm?"

"You've been trying to find your lost time, and for some reason you think that dream will give you some sort of answer. It won't, you know." There, Draco was giving him the chance. There was no reason for Harry not to leave. But, if he didn't leave…well, Draco didn't know how much longer he could fight it. If it weren't for the glass…

The blonde knew his resolve was beginning to weaken. But who could blame him really? He had fought harder than anyone else in his position ever would have. Didn't he have the right to be happy too? And with Harry—how palpable it all was.

"I think it will."

"You're wrong." How much longer could he force himself to play this role?

"You're not going to trick me into walking away from this!"

"Look at you, Potter. You're scared. What do you have to be scared of?" How much longer could he force himself to wallow alone in the cold dark? The demon was teasing him with these thoughts, he knew, but even still…even before the demon, every part of him had ached with a yearning that had come from the darkest depths of his soul. He'd been a fool to think he'd be able to forget Harry like he had all the others.

"You don't know what it's like to lose a part of yourself."

Draco snorted, "So you assume."

"Enlighten me with your knowledge then."

Draco paused, holding Harry's gaze and not daring to look away even for a moment for fear his heart would burst. Then, the heavy weight of sorrow settled on his chest, pressing into him like a vice as the darkness crept up his throat and curled around his tongue. "It feels like there's a hole in your chest, so deep and so dark you think that nothing can ever fill it back up again. And it just keeps getting deeper and darker, because you can never have what was, or know what might have been. You can never go back. But you keep your face for them, because they can never know…knowing would only hurt them too. So you're all alone, falling deeper and deeper, but nobody knows, so you just keep falling…waiting to hit the bottom you fear will never come." Draco's heart trembled with feeling, even as he forced every muscle in his body to remain perfectly still. Harry was looking at him now, with wide green eyes full of fear laced with silent awe, like the blonde had just touched some part of him he'd never let anyone else see.

"How could you…how did you…"

"I told you that I knew."

"How?"

Draco allowed himself a sad smile, "Because sometimes not being able to forget is just as bad as forgetting."

"What do you wish you could forget?" Harry pressed both of his palms against the barrier, and as he breathed the glass fogged with steam.

Draco's eyes dropped to the Gryffindor's lips for but a moment, remembering the way that breath had felt as it ghosted across his skin. With a soft sigh he looked back up, "Everything."

"Why don't you use a memory charm?"

"And end up like you?"

There was a beat of silence. "I fell."

The Slytherin very nearly choked. "Right, well, you still forgot, didn't you? And that hardly made anything better."

"But with a memory charm you could put something else there…something nicer. With me everything's just blank, like static."

"I would know it was a lie anyway."

"How?"

"Because nothing in my life is ever nice."

"Oh."

Silence.

Harry pushed himself back from the glass, dropping his arms and letting them swing awkwardly at his sides, "Well, that's kind of your own fault isn't it."

The blonde hummed, "You think it's karma?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally, "You've never exactly been nice to anyone."

"You mean I was never nice to _you_."

"I don't think the way you treated Crabbe and Goyle was exactly nice."

"Crabbe and Goyle were idiots," Draco retorted without pause.

"They were your friends."

"I was their _master_. They needed someone to follow and I was more than happy to walk around with an escort. Beyond their fear of my father I meant nothing to them, nor they to me." Harsh though it may be, it was true. He couldn't remember exchanging more than ten words at a time with either of them in one sitting—he doubted it was even possible.

"And what about Pansy? Blaise?"

"Both of them just want my money. Pansy put me in here to try and get it, and Blaise fucked me to try and get it. Some friends they are. At least I got some sex out of the deal."

Harry didn't say anything, just looked at him with wide horrified eyes.

"This is what you Gryffindors can never understand about Slytherins—we're loyal to ourselves and only ourselves. We make alliances to get ahead and when the time comes we stab them in the back."

"That's horrible."

"And so is the world. Might as well learn it while you're young."

"I don't believe that."

"Then your children will know a world of heartache and disappointment, and so will you."

"You don't think I have my doubts too? I've seen just as many people die as you, Draco!"

Draco felt his heart contract painfully as his body gave a violent surge. The next thing he knew he was on his feet, staring at Harry and trying to remember how to breathe, "Why—why did you call me that?"

Harry stumbled back, falling unceremoniously back into the seat of his chair. He stared down at the floor blankly, his eyes misted. "It just came out," the Seeker's hand moved over his lips, "I'm sorry."

"It's been so long," the Slytherin's voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry's hand dropped, "Since what?"

Draco blinked, and really looked at Harry for what felt like the first time that day. He looked so small, sitting there in that chair surrounded by the blinding white. There was a misting darkness gathering just beneath the other boy's gaze, and Draco couldn't help the strange shudder that took hold of him.

"Nothing," he breathed.

"You look flushed. Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

Harry shook his head and sighed, "I shouldn't have yelled before. Old habits die hard, I guess." He threw the blonde a shy smile, "So much for being mature adults, huh?"

"You and I will always be like that." Draco fell back to the bed, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out his lungs. This couldn't go on any longer. He had to make Harry leave before he said something they would both regret. He had to pretend that he hadn't seen that darkness in the Seeker's eyes, because he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it.

"You think?"

"I know." He couldn't stand the thought that Harry might be just as miserable as he was. "Too much has happened for it to be any other way."

"But…we were kids."

"And we're not anymore?"

"Maybe. It's just, I remember how scared we all were."

"I was never scared," Draco scoffed.

Harry's eyes locked with his, and the blonde could see his evident disbelief. "I saw you with Dumbledore—you were more scared than anyone. You had reason to be."

"You don't know anything about it," Draco said, barely suppressing a glare.

"Maybe."

There was a long minute of silence then, where neither boy could seem to look away. Draco could feel his resolve fading by the minute, falling down and farther still into those emerald eyes that had captured him so long ago.

"I was raised to hate you, you know," Draco began slowly, "Don't give me that look Potter, I grew up with a Death Eater, what did you expect? But when I met you, I didn't want to hate you. The problem was, you wanted to hate me"

For some reason those words made the Gryffindor's face go blank with shock. His fingers suddenly curled into fists, and his knuckles went white, "So you're blaming how we are on me?"

The blonde stared down at Harry's hands with a peculiar interest. "You could've had me," he said with a dead calm.

Harry's temper flared. His cheeks went suddenly red, and Draco could tell he was itching to jump from his seat once more, "I was eleven years old! You think I had any way of knowing or understanding how chaotic it would all get? And if you think I regret for a moment choosing Ron, you're wrong. He was a better friend than you could ever hope to be."

"Because I was a Slytherin?"

"Because of who you are! I may pity you a great deal, Malfoy, but you'll never change. Like you said, you're out for yourself and only yourself."

"Pity?" Draco asked, unmoved by Harry's other insult. "You pity me?"

Harry simply glared at him, and the Slytherin met the glare wholeheartedly. Something inside him was just about to snap, like he was sitting on the end of a branch that couldn't quite hold his weight. He had to end this—he had to get out of this place. Now.

"However alone I am, Potter, you're just as alone and you're just as scared! If you had the balls to jump off your high and mighty pedestal you might see that. But you won't! It's far easier to point that self-righteous finger of yours at me!"

Now Harry did jump out of his chair, charging towards the glass, his expression bright and livid, "You don't know the first thing about me, so don't you dare act like you do!"

"Oh," Draco simpered, "I think we proved that wrong on your last visit."

"You're such an asshole!"

"Resorting to name calling now are we?"

The Seeker bared his teeth but said nothing.

"You're angry now, aren't you. I can tell—your shoulders are tense. Well, don't dish out what you can't take, Potter. Your fists can't do the talking here."

"I'm leaving."

"Good."

"And I'm not coming back!" Harry turned on his heel and marched back towards the door. He grabbed the handle and threw the door open before whirling back to glare at Draco, and in that moment the Slytherin knew that he wanted to stay. Harry wanted Draco to stop him, and that only made it hurt more.

_Why? Why does he want to stay? What possible reason have I given him?_ The blonde couldn't figure it out. He'd played the part so perfectly, even as it tore him apart piece by piece. Harry should still hate him—he should still think that the Slytherin hated him right back. So what was this? Why was Harry looking at him now like there was some part of him that _did_ remember those two months Draco had made him forget—like there was some subconscious part of him that no magic could ever touch? And in that very moment, Draco wanted him more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

But he had to stay strong. He needed more time to figure out what to do. "You've just made my day."

Harry's entire body seemed to crumple, and his face fell with a heavy sadness, "Have a nice life Malfoy. Or actually…don't."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Isn't Harry adorable when he's being melodramatic?<p>

Another random side note: I'm taking fic requests if anybody wants to send me any. My muses have been epic fail lately. Just shoot me a PM if you're interested :)

**Review if you want that silly glass barrier to go away!**


	6. What's Left of Me

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: September is the month of midterms! *dies*

Infinite thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch**, my favorite beta ever! She made this chapter so much less boring...trust me!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_I've been dying inside, little by little_

_Nowhere to go, but going out of my mind in endless circles_

_Been running from myself until, you gave me a reason for standing still_

_Cause I want you, and I feel you crawling underneath my skin_

_Like a hunger, like a burning, to find a place I've never been_

_Now I'm broken, and I'm faded_

_I'm half the man I thought I would be_

_But you can have what's left of me_

-Nick Lachey

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Harry was fuming. Or, at least, he was something in the general neighborhood of fuming. Whatever he was, he didn't really care. What he did care about was the insatiable fire that was now burning in his stomach, radiating out along his limbs in hot, pulsing waves.<p>

Damn Malfoy! Damn him to hell!

What was he trying to hide, anyway? Harry stormed through the entrance hall of St. Mungo's Hospital, ignoring the stares the surrounding people were casting his way as his robes billowed and snapped with every heated step that brought him closer to the exit.

Well, it didn't matter what the Slytherin was trying to hide, because he was done. Done with all of it. He was done with feeling this way and not knowing why. What exactly was it about Malfoy that did this to him? Whenever they were to together, the air itself seemed to take on a sharp electric tang, like their bodies simply couldn't contain the potent feelings that existed between them. But it didn't matter anymore. Harry was leaving, and he was _not_ coming back.

Seething, the Gryffindor pushed through the doors and grabbed his wand from his robe pocket. Its weight and smooth texture felt comfortable and familiar in his hand, and he could feel his overly excited nerves began to settle ever so slightly. Then something touched him, deep down in his very soul, like a force pulling against his back. Harry stopped abruptly, and stood very still, the afternoon sun beating against the back of his neck even as crowds of witches and wizards bustled about on their daily business. Time seemed to be moving all around him, yet here he was, somehow stuck in a moment. He should be going home. That's where he knew he _should_ be going. He needed to just leave and put this whole wreck of a week behind him, never to be thought about again.

But there was no point in trying to fool himself. He couldn't just forget about it. Those dreams…they had been too real. And more than that, there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he couldn't just leave Malfoy, not now. He just—Harry gazed around desperately—he needed to talk to someone.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on the familiar image, Harry raised his wand. All of a sudden, there was a loud pop, and the world beneath him gave a lurch. Something akin to a hook caught in his chest and he was hurtled forward, landing rather clumsily on the hard wooden floor in the living room of Ron and Hermione's flat.

A startled shriek broke through the silence of the room.

Harry glanced to the side and immediately averted his eyes, reddening at the fact that he had just interrupted his friends during what must've been a very heated snogging session.

"Goodness, Harry," Hermione said, peeling herself from Ron's lap and attempting to nonchalantly straighten her rucked-up skirt, "you scared us half to death! Is everything alright?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, still unsure as to whether or not it was okay to look. "I—er—yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to talk is all. But I can leave if I'm, you know, interrupting." Harry offered the two a small bashful smile.

The brunette shook her head and returned Harry's smile freely, "Of course you're not interrupting. We're free to talk, aren't we, Ron?"

"Not if it's about my sister," Ron grumbled, still slouched comfortably in the overstuffed armchair. "No offense mate, but I don't need to be in on the gory details of your relationship."

Harry shifted once more, suddenly finding a loose string on the end of his robe sleeve quite interesting. He was beginning to doubt his decision to come. What if they didn't understand? But he had to tell someone…and they were all he had. "It's not about Ginny," Harry said slowly. "It's about Malfoy." The Seeker let out a heavy breath as the room fell into silence.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick furtive glance, and Harry couldn't help the odd chill that slithered down his spine, as the air seemed to go stiff with tension.

"What about him?" Hermione questioned gently.

"I—"

Ron suddenly leapt to his feet, "Does anybody feel like tea? I think I want some tea. I'm going to make some tea." Now flushed and quite short of breath, Ron nodded and retreated from the room.

Harry and Hermione stared after him, baffled. "What's gotten into Ron?" Harry asked, knowing very well what had gotten into him. Ron had always hated Malfoy, to an extent that even Harry had never been able to match. But there had been something else in Ron's reaction, some kind of apprehension that Harry had never seen before.

"I—well, you know how he is when it comes to Malfoy." She cleared her throat and turned back towards Harry, "So, you were saying?"

Harry's eyes lingered on the doorway for a moment before they shifted back to Hermione. He didn't know why, but he suddenly had the strangest feeling of unease churning in the pit of his stomach. "Shouldn't we wait for the tea?" Harry vaguely wondered why his voice was shaking.

"I don't think he'll mind if we start without him."

Harry jumped as he felt a warm hand slide over his shoulder. He blinked down at Hermione as she pulled him back towards the couch, a warm smile brightening her face. But there was something dark in her eyes—something sad. The cushion gave generously as Harry and Hermione settled down on it, and the sound of the creaking old leather reminded him, for some reason, of opening an old book.

Hermione's hand squeezed his shoulder before dropping down to his lap to take his hand. "Harry?"

Harry shook himself, wanting to pull his hand away and not really knowing why. This was Hermione, after all. He could trust Hermione with anything. "Right," he muttered, staring down at their clasped hands. "Well, last week I had this dream, and…it was sort of about Malfoy."

Hermione's grasp tightened ever so slightly.

"I dreamt about him trying to kill himself," Harry's heart constricted in his chest, "and when I woke up the next morning, there was that article in the Prophet."

"Yes, I remember reading something about it."

There was a long moment of silence. Harry chanced a look up, and saw that the brunette's cheeks were a bright blotchy red, and her brows were pulled tightly together like she was lost in some vexing thought. Harry wondered if she was actually upset at him for interrupting her time with Ron, or if she really was just as disturbed about his dream as he was. Either way, something was obviously bothering her.

Feeling encouraged that it was most probably the latter, Harry continued, "Anyway, the morning I read about it, I went to go see him—just to see if it was true and—"

There was a sudden resounding crash from the kitchen, shortly after followed by one of Ron's more colorful string of curses.

Hermione's head whipped around, and before Harry could even begin to process what had just happened, she was on her feet and rushing out of the room. He heard the muffled sound of her voice not moments later, gentle and soothing.

"I'm fine, Hermione!" Ron snapped coolly.

There was a long moment of silence before their hushed voices returned. Harry leaned back tiredly, gazing up at the ceiling and the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.

What in the world had he been thinking, coming here like this? It was stupid, he knew. And what did Ron and Hermione care about Malfoy and his problems anyway? They hated the sorry bastard. Beyond the fact that Harry's dream had been something of a premonition, he couldn't imagine that the other details would be of any particular interest to his two best friends. So he had been going to see Malfoy. What did it matter really? So what if he had been getting these strange feelings, deep in the pit of his stomach, coiled like a burning serpent waiting to strike? So what if Malfoy had smiled and Harry's heart had stuttered? So what if he had briefly imagined what it would be like to touch that white blonde hair, and feel the silken strands slip between his fingers as—

Stop! The Seeker's chest rose and fell rapidly as he attempted to force down his blush.

Okay, so maybe he really did need to talk about this with someone. But shouldn't that someone be Ginny?

Harry frowned at the thought.

Ginny, who was always so kind, and loving, and soft. Harry knew beyond a doubt that Ginny would do anything for him. Her heart was so big. But…

And that was just the thing. There was always a 'but'. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but there always seemed to be a reason why he couldn't. It didn't make any sense. Ginny was great—she was in every sense the perfect girl for him. She was the one he was supposed to end up with. There were times though, when he and Ginny were together, that he felt a certain disconnect, like he was only halfway there, going through the motions without any real feeling. There was some sort of chasm between them, filled with nothingness and empty feelings that Harry had never been able to breach.

Ginny just wouldn't understand what he was going through with Malfoy. But Ron and Hermione, they could understand. Maybe. They could help him figure this out.

Because there _had_ to be something to it.

_ You've been trying to find your lost time._

Harry shook his head and shrank slightly in his seat. No, that definitely wasn't it.

How could it be anyway? Besides that day in Diagon Alley, Harry hadn't seen or thought of Malfoy until he'd walked into St. Mungo's four days ago. And if he had seen anything of Malfoy during the two months he'd forgotten, something would have told him. Right?

_It feels like there's a hole in your chest, so deep and so dark you think that nothing can ever fill it back up again._

The memory of those words sent a sharp tremor down Harry's spine. Since when did Draco Malfoy know him better than his best friends? Because the fact of the matter was, there was a hole. Harry could actually feel it, like someone had stuck two clamps into his sternum and was slowly stretching him open. If baffled him really—two months were of no real consequence in the grand scheme of things. Still, he couldn't help but feel that something important had happened. Something must have caused this void, and Harry was determined to figure it out.

"Harry?" Hermione appeared around the corner, two small plates in hand, each balancing a cup of tea. She handed one to Harry and reclaimed her seat.

"Where's Ron?"

The brunette grimaced, "He's not feeling too well. He went to go lie down for a bit."

"Oh," Harry replied, somewhat uncomfortably.

"So you—" Hermione seemed to struggle for a moment, "—you were saying you dreamt about Malfoy?"

Harry stared down at his tea, trying to ignore the incessant nervous flutterings in his stomach. "Well…there have been two dreams, actually."

Harry could feel her eyes boring into him, but he refused to look up.

"And did your second dream come true as well?"

"I—I don't know." The light pouring in from the nearby window brightened suddenly, as the clouds gave way to a painfully clear sky. Harry felt himself shrink, feeling, if possible, all the more exposed by the fresh wave of sunlight.

Hermione bent forward, forcing him to catch her gaze. Her eyes were glistening with some indiscernible feeling that was flitting somewhere just along the edge of fear. "Harry, what do you mean you don't know?"

"It's just…" Harry shook his head. "Malfoy never came to the Burrow, right?"

Hermione's face didn't move a fraction. "No, of course not," she replied without hesitation, "why on earth would he?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly and resumed his staring contest with his tea. "Well, I don't know what to think about it then. Maybe it's the future?" The vision of Malfoy's smiling face flashed before his eyes, causing Harry's chest to tighten with some emotion he dared not name.

"Maybe…maybe it was just a dream."

"No." There was no way it was just a dream. Dreams never looked _that_ real. He could never have simply dreamt the way Malfoy had looked, standing in the morning sun, his hair gleaming like a halo of white gold as it was caressed by a gentle wind. Or the way his cheeks had been dusted with an excited tint of pink, or the way his grey eyes had sparkled like a pale lake shimmering in the sun. Harry swallowed against the lump that had formed in his throat. "It wasn't just a dream, Hermione."

But Hermione, apparently, wasn't satisfied with his answer. "Why not?"

"Look, Hermione, I've been talking to him, and—"

"You've been what?" All the color drained from the brunette's face, and her tea cup rattled violently against its saucer. "Harry why in the world would you—"

"What else was I supposed to do after I found out my dream was real?"

Hermione's lips pressed together in a tight line, and Harry felt his stomach fall.

He knew it sounded ridiculous, but—"How else was I supposed to try and figure this out? I haven't thought about Malfoy in ages, and suddenly, I'm having premonitions about him? I just—I think he needs my help!" Harry's mouth snapped shut and his eyes went wide—he hadn't meant to say 'my'.

Hermione stared back at him in stiff silence, and Harry knew she had caught his mistake.

"Look," Harry said, now somehow determined to continue, "when I went to see him—Hermione, if you could have only seen his face—he looked relieved, like he'd been waiting for me. I can't help but think that he called out to me on purpose. What if he's in some sort of trouble and I'm the only one who can help?"

"Harry…this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about."

"I know."

Hermione flushed, "So, why in the world would you want to help him? You don't owe him anything."

"I know that, it's just—I think he knows something and he wants to tell me, but that damn pride of his keeps getting in the way." Harry sighed and set his tea aside on the nearby table. For some reason, in the middle of it all, his hands had begun to shake. He looked at Hermione, imploring her to understand. "Hermione, you don't know how it's been for me this past year. Most of the time, I feel like I'm just floating above everything, looking down on my life without really _feeling_ it. And I know I've never said anything, but that's only because I thought this was just how I was supposed to feel. I thought that, after the war, it was only natural that everything else seem subdued. But, when I'm with him," Harry's voice faltered as his heart gave a violent contraction, "I feel…alive again." Harry had to bite his tongue to hold back the rest of the words that were trying to make their way up his throat. Too much had been said already. He hadn't meant to say those words, they had just come out, from some dark secret place inside him. But now that they were out, Harry could feel their weight pressing back against him fighting to get back in—the words meant too much to be left out in the open.

Hermione looked like she was struggling with something. There was a sense of trepidation in her tightly knit brows, and her dark eyes shifted back and forth in uneasy thought. "Why are you telling me all of this, Harry? What's the point you're trying to make?"

"I hardly know myself," Harry admitted, "I don't understand why all of this is happening, but now that it is, I'm not sure how to stop it. I'm…I'm not even sure that I want to. Is that bad?"

"I—I don't know."

"I mean, it's Malfoy. I've always hated him—we've all always hated him. So why is this happening to me?" Harry's hands fisted his robes, "Do you think he's planning something? Do you think he's sending me these dreams so he can curse me?"

"No," Hermione replied with some difficulty, "I don't think that at all."

For some reason, Harry's heart lightened, as if he had asked the questions only for the hope of having them contradicted. Now that they were, though, he didn't know what else to say. What else could he say? He'd all but admitted that he _wanted_ to go see Malfoy. So he waited, hoping that Hermione wouldn't wait too long to fill the silence.

She took longer than he would've liked. "I don't understand. Are you trying to get my approval for something?"

Harry shook his head, though he wasn't sure if that was a truthful answer or not. "I just—I want someone to tell me what to do."

"What do _you_ want to do?"

"I don't know!"

Hermione's lips twitched, "I think you do, and you're just scared of what it might mean."

The Seeker felt his throat tighten against his reply. There was something more in her words than what was expressly stated, some meaning she had hidden in her tone that she knew he could never hope to decipher. Yet still, Harry's nerves were buzzing. Harry had expected a good number of reactions from Hermione upon his mentioning Malfoy, but never this deceptive sort of calm. He didn't like it. It made him feel strange, like he was once again being denied some knowledge that he sought.

"Have you told Ginny?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry started, "Er—have I told her what?"

"That you've been to see Malfoy."

"Oh," Harry frowned. "No, I haven't."

The brunette's jaw dropped in shock, "Why not?"

"I don't know, I guess I just don't know how to—AH!" Harry screamed and fell back against the couch as his head suddenly exploded with pain. Distantly, he could hear Hermione calling for Ron, but it sounded muffled and very far away. His vision faded to black, and he felt a familiar sort of pull against his mind.

Suddenly, a bright room came into focus, halved by a pane of seamless glass. He was back in Malfoy's room at St. Mungo's, but this time, they were both on the same side.

The blonde was currently pacing back and forth at the foot of his bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Harry was standing so close that he could've easily reached out and touched the other boy, but he couldn't—he couldn't even move. The blonde looked upset. Very upset, like he was on the brink of some horrible and inescapable plight.

Malfoy stopped abruptly and turned to gaze out the window. Slowly, the expression that tightened his face began to fall, and the edges of his lips were pulled down into a solemn grimace.

"Alright," he said at length, "I'll do it, but on one condition, which we'll discuss later. Just…get me out of here."

"I knew you'd finally see things my way." The voice came from somewhere just beyond Harry's line of sight. It sounded familiar, yet horribly warped at the same time, and its cool whispering made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.

Not a moment later, there was a knock at the door.

Malfoy turned, his face suddenly very pale, "Ah, yes, Mr. Tenneal."

"Sir."

"Fetch my belongings will you? I think I've quite overstayed my welcome here."

There was a brief moment of silence before Tenneal's deep rumbling voice replied with, "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy."

"Harry!"

Something hard whipped across Harry's cheek, and he was jerked out of the vision with a hot tingling pain. He blinked, somewhat dazed, and saw Ron and Hermione hovering over him, their faces stretched with worry.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, trembling, "I didn't mean to hit you so hard. Snapped you out of it though, didn't it?"

Hermione glared over at the redhead before turning back to Harry, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry replied distractedly. What in the world had he just seen? Malfoy checking himself out of St. Mungo's? Impossible—psychiatric patients couldn't just waltz out on a whim. But…that voice. Malfoy had said he'd been hearing a voice.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice seemed to bring him back to reality once more. He stared up into her deep chocolate brown eyes, so full of concern, but he felt nothing. When had his existence become so hollowed? When had he lost his connection? He wanted nothing. He felt nothing…except in this—this thing with Malfoy.

And maybe Hermione was right, maybe he did want it. Though what 'it' was exactly, he didn't know. But he sure as hell was going to find out.

"I've got to go," Harry said, leaping up from the couch. Whatever this was, if it could help him feel again, if it could even begin to start filling the void, then he had to at least try, even if Malfoy was involved. And there had been moments—oh, there had been moments when he was sure he had felt something stirring deep inside his chest. Even if it was hatred—but no, that word didn't feel right anymore. It was something else, not so unlike hatred in ferocity and passion, but different in some key way.

He had to figure this out. He owed it to everyone else. He owed it to himself. Didn't he?

Ron started towards him, "Harry, what in the world—"

But Harry was already up and apparating back to St. Mungo's.

The bustling mass of people hadn't eased one bit in the hour Harry had been gone. He pushed through the crowd, somewhat impolitely, in his rush to get to the front desk. A few people turned to glare at him, mouths open and ready to chastise, but upon seeing who he was, remained decidedly silent.

His usual nurse was still stationed behind the desk, and she flashed him a brilliant smile as she saw him making his way towards her.

"Mr. Potter! Back so soon?"

Harry leaned in towards her, his breathing slightly more labored than it ought to be. "Yeah, sorry. I just have a quick question—has Malfoy checked out?"

"Why yes," she replied, still smiling. "He left not fifteen minutes ago."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Yay for filler chapters! Lol but you have to build up the tension somehow right? As for the next chapter...well...Harry may or may not get his memories back *coughs* ^_^<p> 


	7. It's Been Awhile

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Ok so first of...I'm SOOOOO sorry about the delay on this chapter! What with projects, midterms, and job interviews I've been beyond swamped. And then my Doc Manager uploader decided to break for a few days *sighs* Anyway, sorry again. Hopefully the next few won't take so long...and winter break is coming up so I'll be doing a shit-ton of writing then. Hope you enjoy!

Infinite thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch**, my favorite beta ever! If you would've read the first draft of this...you would've cried! It was so bad...but it's better now so yay!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I could look at myself straight_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I said I'm sorry_

_And it's been awhile_

_Since I've seen the way the candles light your face_

_And it's been awhile_

_But I can still remember just the way you taste_

-Staind

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Draco stalked heatedly down the wide corridors of Malfoy Manor, allowing himself to be led more by habit than actual thought. He couldn't allow himself to think about anything…not yet. All he knew at that moment was the feverish chill of the air, and how his nerves were dancing restlessly beneath his skin. Everything seemed slow and distant, like he was passing through some sort of endless haze. The dimming light of the sun set the stone hall ablaze with an orange glow, and the very earth seemed to be alive with a palpable dread.<p>

"So, what's the condition?" a voice hissed from behind.

Draco didn't answer—he didn't even pause to look back. He still needed time. He had to make sure that he was doing the right thing, and he couldn't allow himself to be rushed. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it exactly how he wanted to. Draco turned the corner and walked up to the parlor doors. With his mouth set in grim determination, he pulled them open.

He was immediately affronted by the sight of Pansy and two other young men, all sitting rather close together on the floor and talking in intimate raspy voices. There were a flames crackling in the fireplace, though it was still quite warm out, and the light played with the shadows that danced along the lush red carpet. Pansy was dressed quite provocatively, in one of his mother's old evening dresses, which was obviously too small for her rather plump frame. Draco felt his temper beginning to simmer. What was _she_ still doing here?

"Pansy?" The blonde's voice was like a nail scraping against ice.

Pansy turned, and her eyes practically bulged. She jumped to her feet and rushed towards him, her cheeks flooding with an unattractive shade of red. She was upon him within moments.

"Draco, darling." She grabbed for his arm, but he brushed her off, glaring. Her gaze grew fearful, "I—I didn't realize you'd be home so—so soon."

Draco raised a pale brow, somehow managing to mask his anger with a bitterly cold facade. "Yes, I imagine you didn't expect me home for quite some time indeed."

"We—uh—we have company, you see? This is—"

"Get out." Draco ran over her pathetic attempt at propriety with a determined animosity. He didn't have time for this—Harry was bound to be coming soon.

Pansy glanced around desperately, "Draco, look, you know I never meant to leave you there alone for so long, but you were really starting to scare me." Her lower lip began to quiver, and her eyes shone with some manic emotion. "You were having nightmares almost every night, and when you were awake it was like you weren't even there. After you started disappearing for weeks at a time I couldn't just—"

"Did I ask you for an explanation, Pansy?" Draco seethed, "Let me answer that for you, since, judging from your vacant expression, you're not exactly running on all cylinders. I didn't. I asked you to get out. So. Get. Out. I want all of your things out of the Manor by morning."

Her eyes welled up with tears, and as she blinked they spilled wetly over her cheeks, leaving trails of smudged mascara and eyeliner. She tried to grab for him again, but Draco held her off, more brutishly this time. "Draco, I'm sorry! I never wanted—"

"Get out!" Draco snapped. And with a wailing sob, Pansy pushed past him and fled down the hall. Draco turned only to glare after her before reeling back towards the room's other two occupants. In one swift fluid motion, he reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. He then watched, with mild enjoyment, as their faces paled with fear. "Are you two going to leave quietly, or are you going to be needing some persuasion?"

In an instant, the two were on their feet. "We were just leaving." With lowered heads they ducked past him out the door. Satisfied, Draco pocketed his wand. They were halfway down the hall when Draco heard one of them whisper to the other, "I guess Pansy was right—he really has gone mad, hasn't he?"

Barely suppressing a growl, Draco stepped fully into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. The sound echoed through the room and seemed to vibrate the air.

"You don't like them saying that about you, do you?"

Draco whirled around to find the demon, draped over the arm of the lone couch that occupied the center of the room. He still wore Harry's face, and the blonde couldn't help shuddering as his eyes glittered with malice. Draco forced himself to take a step forward, "Saying what?"

The demon grinned malevolently, "That you're mad."

Draco bristled at the words, but said nothing in return. Of course he didn't like them saying it, but he disliked more, perhaps, that the demon could see it so easily.

"Harry's going to be here soon, you know. He's bound to have already checked that you've left the hospital." The demon rolled lazily onto his back, his eyes drifting up to the dark, domed ceiling. Firelight caressed his skin with golden hues, and gave a certain life to his unearthly stillness. "I'm going to be needing that condition."

"The condition—right." Draco stepped forward once more—it was easier to do now that the demon was no longer looking at him. "You can give Harry his memories back, but on the condition that he wants to keep them once you do."

The demon rolled over onto his stomach once more, and Draco swore he felt a wave of cold shoot down his spine. His eyes were nothing but bottomless pools of black ice and insatiable hunger as they stared at the Slytherin. "What do you mean?"

Draco found that his mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of it, hoping some moisture would come back. He was not going to be like his father. He was not going to cower before this…thing! "When Harry gets here," Draco began, drawing his confidence from the only reservoir he had left—anger, "you're gong to give him his memories back. If he then decides to keep them, then I get my year and you get my soul."

"And…if he decides _not_ to keep them?"

"Then you take them away again." Draco paused, holding his breath for a brief moment before continuing, "And if that happens, then there's no point in waiting the full year—you can have my soul tonight."

"Oh, this is all very dramatic!" The demon laughed, his teeth like a flash of light in the dim room. "You're going to give him an ultimatum—he has to choose between you and his fiancé? I love it."

The demon's smile was a touch too hysterical for Draco's taste, but he supposed he shouldn't have expected any less. He should have been happy, in fact, that the demon had so readily agreed—he would've been an idiot not to, but still. What really mattered in all of this was Harry. Draco had taken Harry's memories because he had thought it was the best thing to do, and now, well, Harry had more than the right to say if that decision really had been the right one or not. If there was ever a time in the Slytherin's life when he prayed he was wrong, it was now.

There was a sudden soft knocking at the door.

Heart leaping, Draco whipped around to see Binky poking her head through the door.

"Master?" she asked, in her gentle, squeaky voice, "There's a Mr. Harry Potter here to see you. He said it's quite urgent—"

"Malfoy!" Suddenly the door burst open, and a very disheveled, red-faced Harry Potter was striding into the room. He stopped in his tracks not a moment later, as if he were somehow surprised to see Draco standing so close, with nothing between them but unspoken words.

Draco felt all of the blood in his body give a single burning pulse before he pushed it down and cleared his throat. "Binky, you can go." Binky nodded gravely and bowed as she shuffled back out of the room, closing the door behind her.

There was a long moment of silence then, broken only by the sound of the crackling fire. For some reason, all Draco could think about was the fact that the demon was sitting not ten feet away, watching.

"Malfoy, I…" Harry shifted nervously, but his eyes never left Draco's. "They told me that you left St. Mungo's. So…I guess you have."

"Obviously," Draco replied, his voice tinted with a hint of mocking laughter. This was actually happening. Harry was actually here, standing in front of him, and he was only minutes away from remembering _everything_.

Harry seemed to struggle then. His lip rolled nervously back and forth under his teeth, and his cheeks flushed a sudden heady red. "I…I thought that they weren't letting you leave."

Draco was trying very hard not to stare at Harry's lips. And he was trying even harder not to sweep forward, shove Harry up against the wall, and utterly ravish him. "I convinced them otherwise."

"Why are you stalling, Draco?" the demon asked.

Draco ignored him, and strangely enough, so did Harry.

"So you're not hearing that voice anymore then?"

"It's…" the blonde wet his lips, "complicated."

Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco's heart skipped a beat. "So, it's not gone?"

"Not exactly."

"You're stalling, Draco," the demon chimed once more, drawing out the vowels in a singsong voice.

Draco's head snapped to the side, "Will you shut the hell up?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Harry stiffen and go very still. Draco turned back towards Harry and saw that his green eyes were wide and frightened.

"Can you—" it clicked in Draco's brain like the flipping of a switch, "—can you not hear him?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "Hear who?"

Suddenly the demon was hovering just over Draco's shoulder, "He can't see me either—not unless I want him to." He turned his gaze toward Harry, his mouth curling maliciously, "Now, let's get on with this, shall we?"

With a small flick of the demon's hand, Harry was hurtled backward and pinned against the wall, held there by some invisible force. Draco's whole body lurched, rushing forward in one desperate movement, as if his very being was tethered to Harry's, and he couldn't help but move when Harry did. But another wave of the demon's hand stilled Draco's limbs, rendering him immobile. Pulse flying, Draco struggled, but the demon's magic held firm.

Then, the light in the room seemed to tremble, quivering with a queer sort of foreboding. Harry blinked dazedly, and Draco could practically pinpoint the moment his expression fell with dread. His shoulders went tense as he struggled to free himself from the impossible hold. "Malfoy," the Gryffindor said between bared teeth, "what the hell are you doing? Let me go!"

Draco paled, "I'm not—"

"He's got quite the temper on him doesn't he?" The demon inched closer to Harry, stooping over to examine him like he was a particularly interesting insect. "I do wonder…"

"If you hurt him I swear I'll—"

"Malfoy, let me go!"

Slowly, the demon's form began to change. Draco couldn't help but stare as the demon's features softened and shrunk, and his hair began to grow, spilling down in waves of red. He was turning in to Ginny. The demon cocked his head, "Curious. But how about if I go deeper?"

"Malfoy!" Harry pressed his eyes shut, a small gasp spilling over his lips. "What are you doing?" The demon's form changed once more—the red hair shortening even further and slicking back before fading to a pale blonde. His body lengthened, the lines hardening into smooth flat planes shaped by lithe muscle.

The demon grinned back at Draco, "How about that? Deep down, even without his memories, he'd still swing for you. I guess you'll be getting that year after all." With a dark smirk, the demon stood to his full height and sauntered over to where Draco was held, and the blonde watched as his features melted back into Harry's.

They stood mere inches apart, and Draco's body gave an unbidden convulsive shudder. "So," the demon raised a dark brow, "about that deal then. I give him his memories, you get one year."

"Malfoy," Harry said softly, "let me go. Something's wrong—something's—"

But the demon's voice drowned him out, "Do we have a deal?"

Draco tried to peer around the demon to look at Harry, but he couldn't. He felt dizzy, and his head felt heavy, like his brain was about to drop into his mouth. But he knew what he wanted—he wanted Harry to love him again. He wanted to see Harry look at him again with that look that said so much more than any words could. The room began to spin.

"Malfoy!"

This was his chance. This was his chance to get Harry back, and by Merlin he certainly wasn't going to let it slip by. "Yes. It's a deal."

"Perfect." Suddenly the demon's hand whipped out, wrapping around Draco's neck and pulling him forward into a bruising kiss.

There was a blinding flash of white light, and Draco felt a streak of cold shoot through him, reaching down into the pit of his stomach with icy claws. Distantly he heard Harry scream, and Draco's heart contracted violently. He fought against the demon's hold once more, but he couldn't even move. And as the demon pulled back, Draco felt something rancid surge up his throat and every joint in his body seemed to buckle as his strength waned. Every part of him felt drained, like his body had been sucked dry of his energy. The demon released him, and Draco fell to his knees in a weakened lump.

Draco blinked wearily, trying to make out something through the blurry haze of his vision. "What did you just do to me? Is Harry ok?"

"That, Draco, is how you make a deal with a demon. And Harry's perfectly fine. I'll be back to check on you two soon. Do be sure to find out if he wants to keep those memories or not." And with a snap of his fingers, the demon was gone.

For some reason, everything after that seemed muted, or maybe it was just the strange whirring that was still ringing in Draco's ears. He looked up, and as his vision swam back into focus, he saw that Harry was standing hunched over, one hand pressed to his temple and the other fisted against the wall.

The Gryffindor looked up, his emerald gaze burning with a fire different from any Draco had ever seen there before. "What. Did. You. Do?" His voice was dark and rumbling.

Draco tried his best to smirk, though he could practically feel Harry's anger radiating through the room. Did that mean it had worked? Did Harry remember? Draco cleared his throat uncertainly, "You're going to have to be a bit more specific."

Harry closed the distance between them in four large strides. He reached down, grabbing Draco by the collar, and yanking him to his feet. Draco stared at the face in front of him, contorted with anger, yet twisted with some pain that was rooted deeper than any anger could reach, and knew without a doubt that it _had_ worked. The line of Harry's mouth pulled downwards, "What did you just do to me? What are these images? Tell me!"

"You know what they are." Calmly, gingerly, Draco reached up to wrap his fingers around Harry's wrist. The Gryffindor flinched, like he was somehow surprised by the gentleness of the touch.

"I don't!"

"You do."

His eyes flickered over Draco's face, and the blonde saw the anger there beginning to ebb, only to be replaced with something else he couldn't quite name. "It's—It's not possible."

"Harry—"

Harry jerked back suddenly, and it took all of Draco's strength and will to keep himself on his feet. "These can't be my memories. I would never—I fell and…" he trailed off distantly, his eyes dropping to the ground in thought.

Draco merely watched in silent torture as everything began to sink in. He knew Harry would be upset, but if he could just make him understand…if he could just make him see why…

"That night at St. Mungo's," Harry began slowly, "…you obliviated me, didn't you?"

Draco's throat tightened. "I did."

Harry's expression didn't change, "Who else?"

"Only Ginny. Everyone else knows."

The information made something in Harry's eyes go dark, and the edges of his mouth dropped in a grim sort of reflection. Slowly, his head began to shake, "You're lying," he said, sounding more forceful now. "If what you're saying is true, then that would mean Ron and Hermione know, and they would never lie to me, about something like this—"

Draco broke him off before he could finish. "They did it because I convinced them it was the right thing to do!"

Harry started forward, and Draco was suddenly overcome with the urge to draw his wand. If he knew one thing, it was that Harry Potter was not to be messed with, especially when he was angry about something. And judging from the tightness of his brows, and the subtle quaking of his muscles, Harry was a bomb just about ready to explode.

"Ron and Hermione wouldn't have lied to me," he repeated, his voice soft and rumbling with irrefutable clarity, "not about something like this. And Ginny would _never_ attack me." If Draco had been anyone else, he may not have heard the subtle note of doubt in Harry's voice at the end. But Draco wasn't anyone else, and that one note dared him to hope, as he had never allowed himself to before.

"You're right," the Slytherin began slowly, "_Ginny_ wouldn't have. But that wasn't Ginny." He watched as Harry's expression seemed to cave. "And I'm sorry that Granger and Weasley lied to you, but they only did it because they were trying to help you. Just like me." The room seemed to go deathly quiet, and Draco was sure Harry would be able to hear the sound of his heart as it pounded fervently in his chest. "I made you forget…because I thought that before that summer, if nothing would've happened, you would've chosen her. You would be just what you are today. And I thought I could handle it. I thought—"

"Stop," Harry hissed threateningly.

"I thought that as long as you were happy, it would be enough for me." Words were just coming out now, pouring out like water gushing through a busted dam. "But it wasn't. I was too stupid—too proud—to realize that I was in so deep I could never hope to get out. And knowing everything that happened, between us, and with Ginny…it got to the point where I _couldn't_ just sit idly by anymore—"

"I said, stop talking!"

"I had to find a way to make you remember again, and Harry, I'm sorry—"

"STOP!" Harry thundered, and all of a sudden he was rushing forward.

Harry slammed into him, his shoulder dropping at the very last moment to connect directly with Draco's sternum. The two boys tumbled to the ground, both gasping for air for very different reasons.

Harry was the first to recover. He sat upright, pinning Draco's legs with his own and fisting the Slytherin's collar tightly. Draco blinked up at him, torn between the wonderful heat of Harry's body on his own, and the piercing gaze that was now demanding his attention.

The Gryffindor bared his teeth as his fists tightened around the cloth at Draco's neck. "I told you to stop. Stop talking about things that never happened! These images aren't real! Why did you put them there?"

"Harry," Draco said softly, calmly, even though his blood was racing, "they are real. Think about it, about all the things that happened, when I was with you and when I wasn't—how all those memories make you feel. You can't just give someone feelings, Harry."

Harry's eyes flickered, trying to reason it all out. "You've never told me the truth before, so why should I start believing you now?"

"But it makes _sense_, doesn't it?"

Harry didn't respond, and Draco watched as his anger finally crested and fell. The Gryffindor rocked nervously, his cheeks blooming with red, and somehow the blonde knew he'd just now become aware of their precarious closeness. Harry's fingers relaxed and his hands began to draw away, but Draco grabbed at them and held them there. Green eyes went wide, darting confusedly between his trapped hands and Draco's face.

"Think about it. _It makes sense_."

"I—" Harry shook his head vigorously, "—no it doesn't." He tried to pull his hands away once more, but Draco held them firm. If this was his last battle, he wasn't going to give up without a fight. He had to make Harry see. He _had_ to.

"So you feel nothing, here with me?" Harry yelped as Draco tugged him down, pressing his hands into his chest. Their faces were mere inches apart, and the blonde could feel the other boy trembling against him. But he wasn't trying to pull away this time. Harry's green eyes stared, transfixed, his breath pooling against Draco's face like a caressing wind. Draco tilted his head, ever so slightly. "Don't you feel anything?" he breathed.

Harry made a soft desperate sound in the back of his throat. "I don't know," his voice was soft and scared.

"You want to know how to find out?"

"How?" Harry released a shuddering breath.

"Kiss me."

The air seemed to take on a sudden anticipating stillness, and there was a moment where time seemed to stretch endlessly onward. Harry's eyes flashed with surprise, followed by confusion, before finally settling into a fluttering curiosity. His head bent forward just a fraction, but it was enough.

Unable to hold himself back one moment longer, Draco brought their lips together. Heat scorched though his veins like wildfire, and it wasn't until now that he realized how cold he'd been before. The Slytherin's eyes drifted shut. Harry's lips were moist, slightly parted, and practically begging to be devoured. Hunger, barefaced and raw, churned in Draco's chest, but he held it back. Now was not the time to let his passion get away from him. Because passion could be given in any kiss. So the blonde remained soft, pressing into Harry something subtler than passion, and sharper than desire. He poured every ounce of himself into it, and he waited for Harry to move—he waited for Harry to remember.

But Harry didn't move, and Draco knew he couldn't hold the kiss on his own forever. He squeezed Harry's hands tighter, willing him to respond, but the Gryffindor remained frozen. Heart cracking, Draco began to pull back, thinking that at least he got to do this one last time. At least he got to feel the warmth of Harry's skin against his own, and smell that wonderful musk of grass and wind. At least he could die knowing that making Harry forget hadn't been a mistake after all.

But then, just as skin left skin, Harry pulled him back, crashing their lips together once more. And suddenly, Harry's hands were pulled from his own, and his fingers were sliding up through Draco's hair. Draco's back arched in reaction. In that one moment he felt every emotion within him swell with elation, threatening to burst through his very skin. Harry's mouth moved, hot and wanting against his own, and Draco responded in kind. Their tongues swept together, battling through the heat and the heady fog in an attempt to reach something deeper. Draco could taste Harry in his breath as he panted, and he could feel the shivers of pleasure that seemed pass from one body to the other.

Harry pulled back, just long enough to whisper, "You…the way you taste…I remember—"

Draco silenced him with another kiss, his arms snaking around Harry's waist to pull him in closer. Merlin, how could he ever have imagined he could live without this? They rocked feverishly against each other, greedily soaking in whatever the other would give.

Then Harry jerked abruptly, and pulled back. Draco barely had time to register Harry's raised fist before it was slamming into his jaw.

Ok, so maybe he could've lived without _that_.

Vision still spinning, Draco glared up at the Gryffindor. "What the hell was that for?"

"You're a damn bastard, do you know that?"

"Well I don't know why you deemed my jaw punishable for that title." Draco cupped the side of his face gingerly. It throbbed dully under his fingertips, and he could tell it was already beginning to swell.

Harry jumped up, and in an angry whirl, began marching towards the door. Quickly, Draco pushed himself to his feet and ran after him. The blonde caught him by the wrist just as he reached the door, "Where are you going? What's wrong? I thought—"

Harry reeled on him, his eyes bright with feeling. "You thought I would just leap right back into your arms after you fucking stabbed me in the back? Is that what you thought?"

Draco flinched inwardly, but didn't dare relinquish his grip on Harry's arm. "You're talking about me obliviating you."

"Yes, I'm talking about you obliviating me!" Harry's face was red again, but not with embarrassment. "How could you? You pompous, arrogant, assuming bastard, how could you do that to me?" Tears swam along the corners of Harry's eyes, and where Draco had thought he would see anger, all he saw was pain. "After everything that happened, how could you do that to me? Did you just not love me, or—"

Draco slammed him back against the door, "Don't you dare say that! Don't even think it! I told you why I made you forget."

Harry blinked up at him, tears falling silently down his cheeks. And finally, the reason seemed to truly dawn on him. "Ginny?"

"We were never meant to be, Harry. I was just trying to set things right."

Shaking his head, Harry glanced off to the side and wiped his nose with the edge of his sleeve. "That has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say."

Draco's arms fell to his sides as silence overtook them. "I…" Draco began, but the words seemed to wither before they were fully formed. "I know now that what I did to you was horrible, and that…what I'm doing now is probably worse. So, if you want, I can take the memories away again. You can go back to Ginny, and you'll never see or hear from me again."

Harry's gaze remained trained on the far wall, "Why would you offer that, after going through all this trouble?"

The blonde sighed, "Because it should've been your decision in the first place."

"Then you're asking me to choose…" Harry did glance back at him then, with a look that Draco couldn't hope to break even though it had his nerves quivering, "…between you and Ginny?"

Harry's words tore straight through him. "That's not how I meant it."

"But that's how it is."

"Maybe." Draco's eyes did drop now. He knew Harry was waiting for him to say something else, but for the life of him he couldn't think of anything that would make it any better, or make him seem any less selfish. The decision he was forcing Harry to make was a cruel one. He wasn't going to deny it. But there was no taking it back now. He had made his choice…now Harry had to make his.

The silence seemed to stretch on.

"I'm engaged to Ginny, you know," Harry said finally, his expression caving ever so slightly.

"I know," was all Draco could manage to respond.

"What…" Harry struggled, "what would I tell her if…"

"I don't know."

Harry nodded, his eyes glazing over with a heavy sorrow. And as his head turned away once more, the firelight stretched across the smooth planes of his cheeks and cast sharp shadows that seemed to cling to his knitted brow. "I'm not going to let you take my memories again."

Draco's breath caught in his throat as something in him sparked.

"But," Harry's anger flashed once more, "don't think that means anything. It doesn't mean I'm choosing you. I'm…going to need some time."

The spark was snuffed almost as immediately as it was ignited. "Of course. I'll be here." And he would. He would wait as long as Harry needed him to. If only his father could see him now…what a truly pathetic Malfoy he'd become. All of that pride that he'd worked so hard to refine, swept away by a single boy with dark hair, glasses, and eyes like blazing emeralds.

"I guess I should go."

Harry turned once more to leave, but Draco's hand shot out to catch him before he'd even thought to react. The Gryffindor glanced back at him, his teeth clamping down on his lower lip like he was trying to keep his voice from escaping his mouth.

"Harry," the blonde breathed, before pulling the other boy against him in a tight embrace. He pressed their cheeks together, inhaling deeply and relishing in the soft tickling of Harry's hair against his nose. And then Harry's arms were wrapping around him, and Draco could feel his very heart soar. "I love you, Harry," he whispered tentatively, knowing the words weren't welcome, yet unable to hold them back.

Harry stiffened and pulled back, "I really should go."

Draco released him reluctantly, nodding.

"I'll—I'll probably stop by tomorrow."

"Same time?" Draco asked, attempting the barest hint of a smirk.

The Seeker flushed, "Probably."

"There's no glass anymore." He said the words, and silently wondered if Harry knew what they meant.

If it was possible, and apparently it was, Harry's flush deepened, "Bye, Draco."

Draco had to hide the smile that the sound of his name on Harry's lips enticed. "Bye, Harry."

Without another word, Harry swept out of the room, leaving Draco standing in the doorway, listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps.

"Well," the sound of the demon's voice caused the blonde to start, "all in all I think that could've gone much worse, wouldn't you say?"

Draco turned to face the demon, his mood promptly dampening. "It could've gone much better too. He left."

The demon waved him off, "He'll come back." He strode across the room and plopped down on the sofa in a mirror image of his prior position. "And we'll be waiting."

Something about those words made the hackles on the back of Draco's neck rise. "We?"

"Certainly." The demon smiled at him, his eyes very black, "You didn't think I'd be leaving you alone, did you? No sir, I've got to protect my investments! We're going to have so much fun this year, you and I."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>So that was a pretty long one right? And Harry remembers now! But what oh what do I have in store for them next...? More angst? Probably so *nods*<p> 


	8. The Choice

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Yay the holidays are finally here! I won't be long but I want to say thanks to everyone who's been reviewing-you guys are so nice! Also! I'm going to be going through and updating Obsessions! No real major changes, but there are a lot of mistakes and minor moments of bad writing that I'd really like to fix.

Once more, abundant thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch**! I love my beta! Love love love! Muah!

* * *

><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_Is this real or is it just another crazy dream_

_That someday soon will fade away?_

_Feels just like I'm under water and can barely breathe_

_Dying in the bed that I have made_

_I don't want to drown in you_

_I'm sinking and I'm torn in two_

_So when you see me come up for air don't try to hold me down_

_Just save me now_

_Don't let me drown in you_

-Daughtry

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

><p><em>I love you, Harry<em>.

Harry's heart contracted painfully in his chest as the words echoed in his mind. He was walking at a painstakingly slow place, down the last stretch of concrete that lead up to his flat, where he knew Ginny would be waiting for him. Ginny. What was he going to do? What was he supposed to say?

_I love you, Harry._

How could it have come to this? Here he was, about to walk into a flat that he shared with the girl who had tried to kill him not one year ago. Only an hour ago, there had been no reason for him not to expect a perfectly happy life with Ginny. There had been no reason for him not to live the life everyone had always wanted him to live. But it had all been destroyed; swept away by a single moment. And perhaps the worst part of it all was that he was completely alone in it. Everyone else knew…Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. Everyone, all this time, had taken such care to pull the wool over his eyes. They'd all lied to him. And for what? Because they thought Ginny was the one who was supposed to make him happy?

Ginny. Harry stared up at the door to his flat—it seemed to loom over him like a great shadow he couldn't escape. Ginny was waiting inside for him, but it wasn't the Ginny he thought he knew. This Ginny had tried to _kill_ him. But no—that had been Tom. And he'd killed Tom. He'd killed…

Harry fisted his hair and pulled hard, using the pain to drag him from his dark thoughts. He couldn't think about any of that yet. He had to start small, and deal with things one memory at a time. If he allowed himself to be overcome by the pain of it all, he would put himself into a rut he would never escape. No, he had to make this journey one step at a time.

Okay so, step one. Harry stilled, gazing down at the first step of the cement stairwell to his flat in dejected silence. Sighing, he turned and took a seat on the lowest step, burying his face in his hands.

Step one: the memories were real. He'd come to terms with that mostly. After all, Mal—Draco had been right; one could place images in someone's head and pose them as memories, but they certainly couldn't create feelings. And there were definitely a lot of feelings, especially where the Slytherin was concerned. Unable to help himself, Harry's thoughts drifted back to the Manor, and the bizarrely intoxicating feeling of Draco's lips against his own. Heat scorched through him even now as he remembered the sultry friction of skin against skin, and he was wracked by a deep-seated yearning to feel more of the hard body that had been pressed so firmly against his own. Which brought him to step two.

He was gay. Or he was at least bisexual. Harry winced at the thought, mostly because he felt that he wasn't as surprised as he should have been. He knew that his relationship with Ginny had always been somewhat lacking in spark, and so naturally there had been times that he'd…speculated—times after Quidditch practice in the showers when his eyes had lingered just a moment too long, or on the street when he'd catch himself staring after a flash of blonde hair. But now…knowing that it had all been because of Draco Malfoy was like fitting the last piece of a puzzle into place. All along, his body had been craving what his mind couldn't remember.

So he at least knew that he was attracted to the blonde, if nothing else. But then that brought him to step three: did Harry still love him? _Could_ he still love him, after everything that had happened?

"Harry?"

The sound of Ginny's voice at his back had Harry leaping to his feet. He spun to see his fiancé standing in the doorway, looking down at him with obvious concern.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, peering hesitantly down the street. "Is everything alright?"

_No_. "Yes," Harry answered, climbing the stairs two at a time.

"Where have you been?"

_At Malfoy Manor, snogging Draco Malfoy senseless_. "Nowhere. Just went out for a walk." Harry met her in the doorway, trying very hard to not drop her gaze. He couldn't help but imagine her blue eyes glazing over with a flash of black, and her lips twisting into blood curdling grin. Clearing his throat, Harry pushed past her into the hallway. It was too much—looking at her and remembering the way it felt to have her magic tearing him straight through. When he looked at her now, all he could see was Tom. One moment in Ginny's presence had made it clear enough: the choice wasn't whether or not he should stay with Ginny or leave her for Draco. It was whether he should leave Ginny to be with Draco, or leave Ginny to be alone.

The cruel reality of it set in like the break of a storm.

Distantly, he heard the door close. Ginny appeared beside him in the hall, running her hand along his arm and smiling gently. The touch made Harry's skin tingle unpleasantly. "I've made us dinner."

"Great," Harry said, hoping he didn't sound too choked. "I'm just—erm—going to change real quick. I'll meet you in the dining room." Without waiting for a reply, Harry dashed down the hall and into their bedroom. He closed the door and leaned against it heavily, panting. This wasn't fair. He could work through this…there had to be a way. Maybe he was just overreacting because the memories were so fresh in his mind. Maybe, if he tried, he would be able to see Ginny as she was once again. But as he turned and saw the bed that they shared, he couldn't help the shudder of dread that raced down his spine.

Step four: he had to figure out a way to make a fair decision. And right now, he was in no position to do that. Everything was too fresh—the wounds were too raw. He couldn't look at Ginny without thinking of what she was like when she was possessed, and he couldn't think of Draco without feeling betrayed. What he needed was some time alone, to sort through all these feelings and get himself in order. Ginny certainly didn't deserve to have him like this. And Draco…well…Harry didn't know what Draco deserved.

Harry shuffled across the room to his closet, grabbing a duffle bag from the floor and tossing it on the bed. Sighing, he peeled his robes off and threw on a comfortable shirt and a pair of jeans. He tossed his robes into the bag, along with a few days worth of clean clothes. Yes, he just needed some time to clear his head. A day or two at Grimmauld Place and then…and then what? Everything would be okay?

"This is bloody mad," Harry hissed, grabbing a handful of socks and stuffing them in the bag before zipping it shut.

"Harry!" Ginny's muffled voice came from behind the closed door. "Your dinner is getting cold!"

"Coming!" Harry called back. Grimacing, he shouldered the bag and eased his way back into the hall. He began making his way towards the dining room, and every step he took seemed to pull his gaze further towards the ground. By the time he actually reached the table, his eyes were glued to his shoes.

"Harry?"

Harry glanced up at her. She was sitting at the table, looking nervously between Harry and the bag on his shoulder. Harry cleared his throat and dropped his gaze once more. "I—um—there's a last minute training camp out of town before the season starts up." It was a lie, yes, but he couldn't very well tell her the truth.

Ginny sighed softly. "Oh."

"I'm sorry the coaches didn't tell us earlier. But it shouldn't be more than a couple of days."

"You don't have to explain, Harry," Ginny said, her voice soft and bright. "It's fine. Do you need help packing at all? You know you always forget something."

"No thanks, I think I got everything."

"How about your toothbrush?" She said this with an almost knowing smile.

Harry felt a horrible pang of guilt, but he attempted to shake it off with a laugh. "You're right," he said, throwing his bag down beside the table and taking a seat across from his fiancé. "I did forget to pack it."

Ginny tittered girlishly. "What would you do without me?"

The pang returned with an unforgiving ferocity. Harry tried to force a smile, but found his lips couldn't quite portray the expression. "So—er," he began awkwardly, "you'll be okay on your own for a couple of days?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Right." Harry nodded and stared down at the pile of pasta in front of him. He grabbed his fork and pushed the noodles around his plate unenthusiastically, not quite sure he could actually stomach a bite.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

A couple hours later saw him standing in the entryway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Kreacher greeted him in a low grumbling voice. "Hello, master. Always good to see you, master. Kreacher has taken good care to keep things tidy while you were gone."

"That's good, Kreacher," Harry replied, not really feeling the words as he spoke them.

"Would master like me to take his bag?"

Silently, he handed the house elf his bag and propped his broom up against the wall. He began walking towards the kitchen, his feet scuffing along the wood and his whole body swaying with a tired sort of numbness.

The kitchen met him with the smell of smoke and stale bread. The room seemed swallowed in shadow, only broken by the sparse number of candles that still had enough of a wick to sustain a flame. Harry stumbled over to the liquor cabinet and pulled the double glass doors open. He was thankful, for once, that Sirius had been something of a heavy drinker and had always been insistent on keeping the cabinet well stocked. Harry reached blindly into the dark shelves and grabbed the first bottle he felt. It was too dark to read the label, but he hardly cared. He unscrewed the cap and pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips. Tepid liquid surged into his mouth, foul and bitter and burning as it scorched down his throat.

"I can't believe this," Harry seethed, throwing himself down in one of the stiff wooden chairs and taking another long swig from his bottle. How had he gotten himself into this…this fucking mess?

_I love you, Harry_.

Harry pressed the bottle to his lips once more.

Something inside him seemed to be cracking, like the empty void that he had searched for so long to fill was now packed to the brim and threatening to burst. How could this have happened? What was he supposed to do? These memories had him torn. He was no longer simply Harry Potter. Now, there was the Harry from before Draco made him forget, and the Harry from after, and the one who was somehow stuck in between. So which one was he? Who was he supposed to be, and how the hell was he supposed to figure it out?

_I love you, Harry._

Because, Merlin help him, he couldn't deny that he still had feelings for Draco. Draco, who had opened him up and allowed him to experience things he had never even dreamed possible. Draco who had peeled back all the walls of darkness and exposed the rawest part of his soul only to sneak up from behind and stab him in the heart. And how did that saying go—fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me? Well he'd certainly been fooled twice—how could he expect not to be played like a fool again?

They could never go back to the way they were. Not after all that had happened. Even the few precious hours they'd shared in St. Mungo's after Tom's defeat had been soiled. He wondered how long Draco had been planning to make him forget. Had it been spur of the moment or meticulously planned?

Harry drained the last few dregs of the bottle and threw it to the floor, where it shattered. Glass flew in every direction; littering the tiles and making them glitter like twinkling stars in a midnight sky.

_But it was a sacrifice, wasn't it?_ A tiny voice in the back of Harry's mind protested. _He did it because he wanted to make you happy_.

Harry scoffed, because the action was so utterly and completely typical of the self-centered Slytherin prat. For some reason, Draco had it set in his mind that he was, in so many ways, worthless. He'd sacrificed his life because he thought Harry's life was worth so much more than his own. He'd given up Harry's memories because he thought Ginny could offer everything he couldn't. Well, who was he to decide such things? Who was he to say what would make Harry happy? And where had Harry's say been in all this?

But, he supposed, he had his say now.

There was a soft knocking on the door. Kreacher hobbled into the kitchen and upon seeing the mess, his expression immediately went sour. "Kreacher heard a loud sound. Are you needing any help, master?" he grumbled.

Harry didn't look at him. He kept his gaze trained on the floor, wishing the color of the glass didn't remind him of Draco's eyes. "No, Kreacher. Just get me another bottle of liquor and get out."

"Very well, master."

It wasn't good enough. What did it matter if he had a say now that everything was changed? He couldn't go back—they could never go back. And he didn't know what to do.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

By the time Harry awoke the next day, it was already dark out. He was sprawled on his bed, still dressed in his clothes from the previous day, and the bridge of his nose ached from having slept with his glasses on. Gingerly, Harry turned and felt his head pounding like someone was using it as a drum.

"Kreacher," he croaked. "Water?"

Harry groaned miserably and pressed his face into his pillow. His mind lulled as he tried to pull himself out of his drunken stupor. How much had he had last night? Judging from the bitter taste in his mouth it had been too much. Harry muttered a simple cleaning spell and sighed as he felt his body go cool and slick.

So what day was it exactly? And what time? Shit, he'd probably missed Quidditch practice and…that meant he'd also missed his meeting with Draco. Well, he supposed there was no use fretting about it now. He would just have to remember to send his coach and Draco an owl whenever he finally managed to pull himself out of bed.

The door creaked open, signaling Kreacher's arrival. "Here is your water, master."

Not bothering to open his eyes, Harry fumbled for the glass. His fingers hit the cool surface and slid around the base. He pulled it towards him, cradling it against his body so it wouldn't spill, but he couldn't seem to muster the strength to lift himself up and take a drink.

"It's very late, master. Would you like Kreacher to get you something to eat?"

"No, Kreacher, I'm fine."

"Also, master, some letters arrived while you were sleeping. Would you like Kreacher to fetch them?"

"Letters? From who—"

And then it hit him, like a spike being hammered right into the center of his forehead. Even though his eyes were closed he felt like he was spinning—drifting down into a darkness he couldn't fight. It was another vision.

Just like before, the room before him brightened and stilled. Draco was sitting on the couch in the very same room Harry had been escorted into just yesterday, holding a dagger in his left hand and restlessly sliding the blade along the backs of his fingers. He looked ragged, as if he hadn't slept in quite some time. There were dark rings around his eyes, and his hair was tousled and unusually limp. The blonde stared broodingly into the dying embers of the fire, his eyes reflecting an eerie blankness.

"I know what you're thinking," a chilled rippling voice whispered. Harry recognized that voice: it was the same one he'd heard before, the one that sent violent shivers down his spine.

Draco's expression didn't portray any sign that he'd heard the voice, and yet he still answered. "I don't doubt that you do." The blade of the dagger caught the light of the fire in a brilliant golden flash, and Harry felt his heart give a violent lurch.

"Well then I also hope you know that you're being ridiculous."

"He didn't come," was all the blonde said in response, and Harry knew Draco was talking about him.

"So obviously the next course of action is to take up playing with sharp objects?"

Draco simpered. "Obviously." The edge of the blade slid down to the exposed skin of his wrists, running over the translucent skin with the faintest of sounds that Harry knew he shouldn't be able to hear, but he did anyway.

"You're just being impatient. He'll come."

"He won't!" The Slytherin's cheeks colored with a violent shade of red. His eyes shifted abruptly, coming to focus somewhere just past Harry's left shoulder. They were cold and burning, and filled with a pain Harry wished he didn't recognize. "I sent him three letters today and he ignored them all!"

"Yes well, maybe that's because you're coming off as a bit needy. Very unattractive, that, or so I've been told."

"No." Draco shook his head, his eyes shifting back to the fire. "He's not coming. He's obviously made his choice. And I don't see why you would wish to convince me otherwise—this way you won't have to wait."

"Ah yes, but you see, waiting is half the fun."

"Not if you don't have anything to wait for. And that's exactly what I have. Nothing. This big house bursting at the seams with emptiness—nothing but emptiness, and I can't stand it anymore." With each word Harry felt his heart dropping, down, down into the pit of his stomach and down farther still. "Each day that passes I feel as if a part of me is slipping away; drifting off into the deep dark, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Harry was the only thing that held me together. But I realized it too late, and now he isn't coming, and there isn't anybody left to pick up the pieces. I can't be alone in this vastness anymore." A wave of tears clouded Draco's eyes and spilled over his cheeks, twinkling like golden gems in the firelight. "Without Harry, there's no point."

And suddenly Harry was thrown back into reality. He gave a startled jump as the bed seemed to slam up against him. The glass of water slipped from his hand and fell, soaking the sheets.

"That idiot," Harry hissed, blinking through his tear filled vision and throwing himself out of bed. His hands fumbled through his pockets, desperately searching for his wand. "That selfish pathetic idiot." He finally found it, still tucked in his back pocket. Taking a few steadying breaths he searched through the fog of his mind for a clear image.

Destination. Determination. Deliberation.

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Sorry to be an angstmuffin! It's been one hellofa month XP but I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! You guys are the best!<p>

**Please review! Harry needs some motivation to sweep in and save the day!**


	9. Dark Side

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Sorry this chapter took so long! My beta and I have been quite busy lately! But I want to say thank you for all your lovely reviews! I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying the story so far :D

Many many thanks **ThexBlairxWitch**! A writer couldn't ask for a better beta!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_There's a place that I know_

_It's not pretty there and few have ever gone_

_If I show it to you now, will it make you run away?_

_Or will you stay, even if it hurts?_

_Even if I try to push you out will you return and remind me who I really am?_

_Please remind me who I really am_

_Everybody's got a dark side_

_Do you love me, can you love mine?_

_Nobody's a picture perfect_

_But we're worth it; you know we're worth it_

_Will you love me even with my dark side?_

-Kelly Clarkson

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>The last thing Draco expected at that very moment was Harry Potter bursting through his door. The second to last thing Draco expected was Harry Potter bursting through his door, very obviously hungover. The Gryffindor was upon him within moments, his entire face contorted with a heated fury.<p>

He grabbed the knife from Draco's hand and hurled it across the room. It hit the stone of the fireplace with a loud clang. "Are you fucking insane?" Harry yelled, his cheeks flooded with a livid red.

The sound of the Gryffindor's voice startled him, as if, before that moment he hadn't believed that Harry was really there. He stared up at the other boy, lightheaded and unable to move. "Harry?"

Harry knelt down before him, his green eyes dropping to Draco's bloodied right wrist. "Dammit," he hissed. "What have you done?" Harry grabbed the hem of his shirt and tore off a long strip. With deft, yet slightly trembling hands, he began wrapping Draco's wrist as tightly as he could. The blonde merely watched, desperately trying to see through the black stars dancing across his vision.

"Harry always seems to sweep in and save you just in time, hm?"

It was Harry's voice, but his lips hadn't moved. Draco's gaze shifted, moving to focus on the shadowed form that was now leaning against the mantle. The demon flashed him a white, fanged smile. "You can't keep trying your luck like this though. Sooner or later it'll backfire."

"I'm no good at healing spells. We should get you to the hospital." The real Harry's voice pulled Draco back.

"No," Draco shook his head. "I'm not going back there."

"Draco, I don't know how bad that cut is, but it looks pretty deep. I'm not just going to—"

"Why're you here, Harry?"

Harry's eyes went wide before narrowing. "I'm sorry, but I believe I just saved your life. Or was that whole holding a knife to your wrist thing just a cry for attention? Oh wait, nevermind, I think the bloodstains on the floor say otherwise!"

Draco snorted indignantly and turned away. His vision was beginning to clear now, and he didn't feel quite so lightheaded. Reality seemed to be settling in on him, and he suddenly noticed that Harry's hand was still resting on his arm. It was surprisingly warm, even through the material of the bandage. Draco stared at the other boy's hand silently, and his mind began turning.

"You—" Draco's voice was much softer than it had been before, "—you didn't come this morning. You said you would come."

It was Harry's turn to look away. "I know, I'm sorry. I meant to owl you, but…" He trailed off, looking distant. His eyes were a peculiar shade of green today, clouded jade instead of sharp clear emerald.

"But?" Draco pressed.

"I got a bit drunk last night, if you must know."

"You…got drunk?" It wasn't hard to tell. Harry's hair was even more unruly than usual, and his skin had a sickly pallor to it. Not to mention he absolutely reeked.

Harry glowered. "Can you blame me?"

Draco supposed he couldn't really. It wasn't as if he didn't _know_ what he'd done was cruel. It had been the plague of his mind for the past forty-eight hours, and it was why it had been so easy for him to believe that Harry had left him for good. But Harry was here now. Harry was…

Draco's gaze snapped to the knife, his eyes catching the light of the blade glinting in the firelight. "You said that you meant to owl me." The Slytherin felt something dark forming in his chest. "So does that mean that you really weren't meaning to come today?"

There was a heavy pause. Harry sighed and pulled his hand away before replying. "No, I wasn't going to come. I need time, Draco. I told you I needed time."

"But you're here now?"

"I'm here because I saw you trying to kill yourself!"

Something dropped in Draco's stomach, heavier than lead and more acetic than vinegar. His hand felt suddenly cold without Harry's there to warm it, and his skin was beginning to tingle from lack of circulation. "You saw?" Draco whispered absently, his eyes flickering up to the demon for but a moment. He was still smiling that same feral smile. He looked back to Harry, and the features of his face seemed in sharper focus now—the hard lines of his brows pulled together in both anger and worry, and his jaw set with the type of determination that only a true Gryffindor could possess. "What did you see?"

Harry's brow pulled together even tighter. "What does it matter what I saw?"

"It mat—" Draco pressed his mouth shut when he saw Harry recoil. It was then that he realized he'd been shouting. He took a deep breath and blew it back out, attempting to calm his frenzied nerves. "It matters, Harry," he said finally, his voice was hushed and low.

Sighing, Harry sat back on his heels. His expression flickered with hesitation as his eyes dropped to his hands, which he had neatly folded in his lap. "It wasn't anything different from before. It just happened suddenly—I saw you in here, with that dagger in your hand." Harry gestured vaguely at the knife behind him. "And you—you were talking to someone…"

Draco's heart gave a sudden violent flutter.

The silence hung heavy in the air as Harry's face slowly transformed, starting with the barest spark of confusion before slowly melting into a darkened curiosity. When he looked at Draco, his eyes were alive with accusation. "I've heard that voice in my visions before. Who were you talking to?"

Harry had heard the demon? But how? The demon had said Harry could only hear him if and when he wanted to be heard…so why allow Harry to hear _that_ particular conversation? What had been said that was so important?

"Draco?"

The blonde started. "What?"

"I asked who it was that you were talking to earlier." Harry was back on his knees, peering at Draco with obvious concern.

"Oh, right," Draco replied distractedly. For some reason he didn't know if he wanted to tell Harry about the demon. Not just yet. He needed to figure out what he was going to do first—see if there was some loophole that could get him out of this whole mess. He could check his father's old library. Surely there would be something to start with in there.

If he told Harry about the demon…well…Draco didn't know what the other boy would do. Harry may not even believe him. As far as Draco knew, no one had ever successfully summoned a demon before. Sure there were stories, but that was all they were—stories. Demon lore was considered mythical at best, something that was only taken seriously by young children and half-crazed superstitious old wizards. Yes, he definitely needed to figure out a few things before he told Harry.

"Draco!" Harry's hands were suddenly cupping his face.

Draco's cheeks heated as he felt the calloused pads of Harry's fingertips brush across his skin. Harry's face was close now, and the blonde could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck like a caress. "Draco, are you all right? Let me take you to the hospital."

"No," Draco shook his head, and nearly gasped at the feeling of Harry's fingers brushing through his hair. "I'm fine, really. And I was talking to the voice—the one I've been hearing."

"You're still hearing him?"

Draco smiled. "Yes. And apparently you are too."

Harry's hands dropped, but he didn't lean back. "The only reason I heard him was probably because you heard him." His lips quirked. "Or _think_ you heard him anyway."

Think? The Slytherin shrugged off the small swell of anger that rose in his chest. His eyes drifted once more to the fireplace. It was so strange seeing Harry's duplicate there, standing so still with his eyes burning like coal. Draco couldn't help but feel that the demon was hiding something—that there was something larger at work here.

"Draco?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "First things first, Harry, we need to get you in a shower. You're absolutely rank."

"Oh." Another wave of red crested on the Gryffindor's cheeks as he pushed himself to his feet. "Sorry." He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve as if it could somehow rub away the smell. Draco too, pushed himself up, pointedly ignoring the way his head swooned and his vision blurred. Nevertheless, as he moved to walk forward his legs buckled beneath him. But even as he stumbled, Harry was right at his side, steadying him by wrapping an arm around his waist. The Gryffindor leaned in, resting his forehead against Draco's temple. "What am I going to do with you?"

The Slytherin smirked. "Hopefully something I wouldn't feel right repeating to young children."

Harry's chuckle rang in his ear, the sound trickling down through him like a sweet nectar. Together the boys made their way out of the room and down the hall. It was much darker out in the corridor without the warm light of the fire. Everything seemed pale and muted, the moonlight shading everything in stark whites and deep shadows. The house seemed so empty now, even with the pair of eyes that followed at their backs.

The two climbed the stairs slowly, but they managed to reach Draco's room without much trouble. Harry made sure Draco was comfortably settled on the bed before starting off towards the bathroom. Just when he reached the doorway, he paused and turned. "When I get out, I hope you know we're going to talk about this."

Draco blinked innocently. "About what?"

"Your suicide attempt."

There was a beat of silence. "Won't Ginny be expecting you back?"

This time, the silence lingered a little longer. Harry grabbed the doorframe, and though the rest of his body was relaxed Draco could see that his knuckles were white. "Not tonight she won't be." Without another word, Harry stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

"How interesting."

Draco jumped at the sound of the demon's voice at his side. The Slytherin glared over at the creature, who was now lying, stomach down and chin balanced in his palms, on the bed next to him. "You really need to start working on these entrances of yours," Draco snapped. "The deal wasn't for me to die prematurely of a heart attack."

"It was in the fine print." The demon grinned impishly.

"It's always in the bloody fine print," Draco murmured.

"So," the demon began, his knees bending so that his feet were swaying freely in the air, "looks like you were blowing all that hot air for nothing."

"Him saying that Ginny isn't expecting him back tonight is not the same thing as him saying he's left her for good. It's not even close." Draco stared down at the bandage on his right wrist. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over the cloth, remembering the look on Harry's face as he had tied it—the potent mixture of anger and disappointment that was like a knife in Draco's heart. "I'm not going to start celebrating just yet."

A distant hissing sound slithered through the room, and Draco's ears pricked at the sound of his shower door opening and closing once more.

"I have the distinct feeling that you're one of those people who's never satisfied."

The blonde looked over at him, wondering at the knowing gleam in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," the demon continued, inching closer, "that even if Harry does decide to stay with you, it isn't going to be enough. You're planning something—I can already see it working just behind that mask you fight so hard to maintain." The demon raised himself to his hands and knees, and began crawling towards Draco like a cat that just found the cream. He arched his back and slid a hand up Draco's chest. When he spoke, his voice was cold as a winter chill, "Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work. You cannot escape me."

It took every ounce of Slytherin in him for Draco not to look away from that burning dark gaze. The blonde kept his face perfectly straight. "I think you're jumping a bit ahead of yourself. I'm not planning anything." Yet. He needed Harry first. Without Harry, nothing else mattered.

"Just remember…" The demon's fingers curled, his nails scraping against Draco's skin. "I'll be watching." And within a blink he was gone.

Draco glanced around, not quite ready to believe he was actually alone. But the room seemed empty enough, and the air was notably lacking that acrid smell that always seemed to hang in the air whenever the demon was around.

The steady sibilance of the shower was the only sound that now drifted through the room. It was so strange to think how just over a year ago, he'd been sitting in the very same place he sat now listening to the very same sound. He remembered how hectic things had been back then—trying to figure out how in the world he was going to pull off Tom's plan to make Harry fall in love with him. It had seemed almost as impossible then as it did now.

And he remembered what it had been like, when Harry had grabbed him in the shower and pulled him in for that bruising kiss. He remembered the heat of the water soaking into his skin and churning in his stomach like fire, and Harry's mouth so unexpectedly perfect against his own. He hadn't been prepared for that. He had never in his wildest dreams ever thought that he would actually _enjoy_ kissing Harry Potter. But the fact was, he had enjoyed it. And that one kiss had changed everything.

Suddenly, the shower stopped and silence filled the room. For some reason, Draco felt his pulse quicken as he stared expectantly at the bathroom door, his left hand still rubbing absently at the bandage on his wrist. A moment later the door creaked open and Harry's head appeared.

The Gryffindor smiled sheepishly. "Hey, is it alright if I borrow some pajamas? I kind of left my bag back at my place."

His bag? So when he had said Ginny wasn't expecting him back tonight, he had really meant it. Harry hadn't left his flat just to come to the Manor; he'd left it to go somewhere else entirely. "Sure. They're in the drawer of my wardrobe." Draco gestured. "Just over there."

The Slytherin watched a beautiful blush bloom across Harry's silken wet skin. Harry lowered his gaze to the ground and slipped through the doorway, and Draco felt his breath hitch. Harry was naked but for a cream-colored towel that he had loosely rapped around his waist. Quidditch was obviously treating the other boy well; his sun-kissed skin was pulled tight over his lithe frame, and beads of water were slithering between the crevices of his well-defined muscles like a splay of rivers weaving through a hard mountainside. Draco's tongue swept across his lips as Harry bent to pull open the drawer. His blood simmered with a warmth he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Harry stood back up to his full height, holding a pair of silk pants in one hand and holding his towel up with the other. "Erm…there are only bottoms in this drawer."

"Is that so?" Draco twisted his mouth up into a full-blown Slytherin smirk.

"Draco," Harry's voice rang with a note of warning.

"What? It's hardly my fault that I prefer sleeping shirtless."

Harry raised a disbelieving brow, but his eyes glistened with a hidden smile. Shaking his head, the Gryffindor made his way back to the bathroom door. His hand was already turning the doorknob when Draco's voice stopped him.

"I've already seen everything under that towel you know. You're wasting your prudence."

Harry threw a lopsided grin over his shoulder. "It's been a while. Things could've changed since then, and I would hate to spoil the surprise." The dark haired boy disappeared into the bathroom once more, leaving Draco alone with his thundering heart.

He'd left Harry with Ginny for a year and she'd gone and turned him into a tease. Draco snorted. The little minx.

When Harry emerged once more, he had exchanged the towel for a pair of black silk bottoms that hugged all the right places. Draco's eyes flickered over him, unable to help trailing down the sharp line of his hipbone as it dipped below his trouser line with an enticing fluidity. Harry clambered onto the bed and crawled up next to Draco, and the blonde noticed how he made sure that the space between them was wide enough that no touch could possibly be accidental.

"So," Harry said, his expression falling into sincerity, "about tonight…"

"We're just going to jump right in without any pretense of discretion then?"

"I don't see much point in beating around the bush about it. I'm not going to let you just sweep something like this under the rug with that silver tongue of yours."

Draco sighed. "You're going to lecture me, aren't you."

"Well somebody has to!"

"Look, I get it." The Slytherin threw up his arms in exasperation. "Shame on me, I tried to kill myself. It was bad. I was wrong. I get it—"

"No you don't get it!" Harry surged forward, grabbing Draco's bandaged wrist and squeezing it tightly. Draco couldn't help but wince as pain lanced down his arm. He tried to pull away, but Harry's grip was like a vice. "It wasn't just bad, and it wasn't just wrong! It was selfish!" Harry's eyes sparked like live wires. "What do you think would've happened if I had been too late? What if I had found you already dead—after everything that we've been through this past week? You think I wouldn't have known it was my fault?"

"Your fault?" Draco shook his head, pressing himself back against the headboard in attempt to distance himself from the other boy. Normally he would've loved to have Harry hovering so close, but not now, because more than anything, the blonde hated the feeling that the things happening around him were beyond his control. "Harry, that's not at all what I would've meant for you to—"

Harry's whole body went tense. "I don't care what you _meant_! That's how I would've seen it! And that would've been on me for the rest of my life, Draco! Merlin, this is just like before isn't it?" With a great shaky breath, Harry's shoulders sagged and the fire in his eyes softened. When he looked at Draco again, his gaze was haunted by a fathomless sorrow. "Why is it that you're always trying to sacrifice yourself?"

Draco clenched his teeth, realizing from Harry's anxious stare that he was actually expected to respond. "I'm not always trying to—"

"You are," Harry pressed.

"You just love interrupting me today don't you." Draco's tone was much more biting than he meant it to be. "Let go. You're hurting me."

He watched with a sinking heart as Harry recoiled back to his former position, and his fire withdrew into a cold darkness. Harry stared down at his hand for a moment before pushing it under the pillows. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to hurt you. And…I didn't mean to yell either. It's just…"

"Just what?" Draco's voice was so soft it seemed to be swept off into the night.

Harry didn't look at him when he answered, but for some reason the blonde was glad for it. Draco wasn't quite sure if he could handle those eyes tearing through him again. "After everything that happened at the end of last summer, I know that I shouldn't love you anymore." The word 'love' spilling over Harry's lips made something in Draco's heart sing like the soft humming of a dove. "You lied to me, you betrayed me, you did all these things that should make me hate you, but…I can't. Hell, I can't even bring myself to dislike you. It shouldn't be this hard. Considering everything you've done, there's no rhyme or reason why I should even hesitate to pick Ginny. So why can't I?" Harry did look at him then. "Why can't I, Draco?"

Had this been any other moment, Draco's sharp tongue would've brushed away the heavy somberness that plagued them now. But this was not any other moment, and for the life of him Draco couldn't think of one single witty thing to say. Harry's green eyes had him pinned to the bed, frozen in time like a candid photo. He seemed to see everything around him with a sudden sharp clarity—the way the cream color of the sheets folded around the crook of Harry's arm, the way his back was arched and how the hard lines of his shoulders caught the light of the moon just so, the way his hair hung in wet tendrils, dripping water down the hollow of his neck and down the ridge of his collarbone, and the way his lips hung slightly parted, lush and pink in the glow of night. Everything. All of it, all wrapped up in a single moment. "I don't know, Harry."

Harry shifted, shivering. He inched closer. "Can you say that again?"

"Say what?" Draco could do nothing more than whisper now, for the feeling that the barest hint of sound could shatter this surreal reality that hung between them now.

"My name," Harry, too, was whispering now. "Say my name again…like you just did."

The blonde swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. "Harry."

Harry closed his eyes and hummed. "Say it again?"

"Harry."

Even in the dim light, Draco could see the prickling shivers that swept along Harry's skin. The Slytherin shifted, longing to reach out and feel those shivers dance beneath his fingertips, but knowing he couldn't. This was Harry's decision, and he had to make it on his own. "Harry."

Harry buried his face in a pillow and groaned softly. His muscles tightened as he pressed himself harder into the mattress, his hips grinding down in one long fluid motion.

If Draco's mouth had been dry before, it was nothing compared to now. "Harry."

"Merlin you have to stop now." Harry peeked up from the pillow, and the blonde noticed that his eyes were hazed with a familiar fog. "You have no idea."

"About what?"

Harry said something, but the words were lost in the down.

Draco leaned in closer. "Sorry, I don't speak pillow. What was that?"

Harry pushed himself up abruptly, and suddenly the two boys were nose to nose. There was only the sound of their labored breathing, and the heat of it as it mingled between them. "I said," Harry's eyes dropped for but a moment, "you have no idea…how badly I want to kiss you right now."

Draco's heart leapt into his throat, but he somehow managed to lift a pale brow and smirk. "Well, what's stopping you?"

"I…I shouldn't."

"You're right."

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Slytherins abhor cheating."

"I shouldn't even be here in this bed with you."

"I agree. Cold beds are always much more inviting."

"But—"

"—You want to."

"And…"

"And? What's stopping you?"

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea."

And then Harry was on top of him, crashing their lips together like Draco was his only source of oxygen in an endless sea. Draco's very blood seemed to surge at the feeling of Harry's body on his own once more—the familiar hot ferocity that was at the same time too much, and never enough. Harry's arms slid under his back, his fingers rucking up his shirt for a taste of the skin underneath, while Draco's hands moved to tangle themselves in Harry's hair. Beads of water slid down Harry's cheeks and into their mouths, coating their tongues with a cool wetness that so harshly contrasted their passion.

Draco nipped at Harry's lower lip, forcing the other boy's mouth wider. His tongue plunged into the wet cavern, and the blonde coated his senses with the fresh taste of toothpaste and the heady smell of heated skin. Harry moaned into him, sending pleasant vibrations jumping along Draco's nerves.

Then their hips connected, and it was like a spark in a dry forest. They gasped against each other, but Harry's hold only tightened. Draco's fingers curled into Harry's neck, and he nipped feverishly at the other boy's ear, trying to think of anything else but the movement he wanted to make. His whole body was pulsing, like there was something just beneath his skin that was itching to break out.

The Slytherin's hand glided down Harry's chest to settle over his heart. He could feel it pounding fiercely against Harry's ribcage, and Draco's fingers curled as if he could just reach in and grab it. He wondered what it would be like to touch Harry's heart—to touch the very deepest part of him and feel it writhing in his hand.

Harry's hips ground down once more, pulling Draco from all coherent thought. And while their bodies rocked, their lips slid together hungrily, igniting the blonde's nerves in such a way that he couldn't help but arch his back to meld himself further into Harry's heat.

"Draco," Harry breathed his name, intertwining their legs as he slid their bodies together to create a delicious friction. "I can't."

Something about the desperation in Harry's voice made Draco still. "What, Harry?" His own voice sounded fuzzy and very far away. Harry's mouth moved to his neck, his tongue trailing along the skin like a wet fire. Teeth raked against the blonde's tender skin, and he thought his heart might burst through his chest. He wanted Harry so badly that it ached, real and deep and painful in the pit of his stomach. And the way Harry was writhing against him, Draco knew that he wanted it too, but…

"Draco…"

It took every ounce of willpower Draco had to flatten his hand against Harry's chest and push him away. A wave of cold rushed over the Slytherin's body, mocking the loss of heat from the other boy. Harry looked at him with dazed emerald eyes, and large swollen lips. "Potter," Draco said squarely, "I just wanted you to know that I truly abhor you right now."

That, at least, made the other boy laugh. His hand rose up to cover Draco's. "I don't know if I can believe this. Are you actually stopping me from having sex with you?"

Something about the way Harry said the word 'sex' made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end. "I happen to be protecting your virtue."

"I thought you'd already taken my virtue."

"Yes, well, I've decided that doesn't count."

Harry's hand tightened as his smile went wide. "And why is that?"

Draco tried to ignore how the touch of Harry's skin was still making his stomach flutter. "Because you forgot about it."

"But I remember again."

"But everything's been reset, hasn't it?" Draco pulled his hand from Harry's chest. His fingers found the silken duvet and clenched it tightly. "And I hardly think it's fair for me to use my sexual prowess when you're trying to make a decision." Draco forced his lips into a smirk. "The poor little ginger would have no hope."

Harry's smile didn't fall, but nevertheless the blonde saw a hint of light drained from his eyes. Slowly, he rolled over onto his stomach, folding his hands under his chin. "You're right, I suppose."

"So she's really that rotten of a shag, is she?"

Harry blanched. "No!" His entire face went beet red, as it only did when he was particularly embarrassed about something. For some reason, seeing that look on Harry's face made Draco's heart contract. "No, I meant about us…stopping." If it was possible, Harry's face reddened even more.

The Slytherin raised a questioning brow. "So she's a good shag then?"

"I'm not going to tell you what kind of shag Ginny is!"

"You're no fun at all," Draco pouted. With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Once he was sure Harry couldn't see his face anymore he allowed his smirk to fall. This was going to be much harder than he thought. His skin was still trembling from Harry's touch, and—Merlin—the taste of him was still swimming across his tongue. How was he supposed to just go along with it? How was he supposed to pretend that he was ok? Just the thought of Harry and Ginny together after what they'd just done—Draco clenched his teeth to keep the agonizing thoughts at bay.

He had to figure out something. He had to figure out how to fix this. There had to be a way, right? Everyone had always said that it was impossible to reverse an obliviation spell, but he'd done it. Who was to say this would be any different? He would find a way to make Harry take him back, and he would find a way to get rid of the demon. He had to.

"Draco?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Are you going to sleep here tonight?"

"Is…that alright?"

"Of course." The blonde turned to give Harry a short smile. "I'll go and grab you a shirt."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Yum yum Drarry make out sessions X3<p>

**Review if you want Harry to choose Draco over Ginny! (then again...it's not really much of a competition is it?)**


	10. Not Over You

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: My beta and I have decided to murder school. Anyone want to join? Lol so anyway, here is another long overdue chapter! And it's a long one too!

I is loving my beta **ThexBlairxWitch **(I always say "project" in my mind after I read her name lol)!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_You never cross my mind at all_

_That's what I tell myself_

_What we had has come and gone_

_You're better off with someone else_

_It's for the best, I know it is_

_But I see you_

_Sometimes I try to hide what I feel inside_

_And I turn around and you're with him now_

_I just can't figure it out_

_Tell me why you're so hard to forget_

_Don't remind me I'm not over it_

_Tell me why I can't seem to face the truth_

_I'm just a little too not over you_

-David Archuleta

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Harry woke up the next morning feeling oddly cold. Grumbling tiredly he rolled over, his arm instinctively reaching towards the other side of the bed. But instead of the warm body he expected, his fingers fell over cool silk. Harry opened his eyes and sat up, trying to blink through the blurry brightness of the midmorning sun spilling into the room. He reached under the pillow for his glasses and pushed them over his ears.<p>

It was so strange how different Draco's room looked during the day. All the colors pronounced themselves boldly only to be softened by the glowing light that shone so freely through the large bay windows. The bed was an iridescent ocean of white and green; the folds of fabric sparkling like the crests of waves. What it was notably lacking, however, was its owner. Draco, it seemed, was nowhere to be found.

Sighing, Harry stretched and threw his legs over the bed. The bottom of his foot brushed something soft and pliant. He peered down to find a pair of red slippers waiting on the ground for him. _Odd_, Harry thought in a daze, _Draco doesn't like to wear red_. Harry slipped his feet into them, and stood. They fit like a glove. Shaking his head confusedly, Harry shuffled towards the bathroom door. He pushed it opened and mindlessly made his way to the sink, grabbing for the toothbrush and toothpaste he'd left out the night before. The sweet minty smell of the toothpaste seemed to perk his senses slightly, though he didn't exactly welcome his newfound alertness.

Boy, he was in some kind of mess.

Last night had been—well, amazing was the first word that came to mind. Why was it that kissing Draco was always so invigorating? Each time felt like a new adventure, like he was exploring different branches of some deep cavern that he could never hope to map. It was as beautiful as it was mysterious, and it burned him with a heat that seemed to brand itself into his very soul. But there was some part of that depth that scared him too. There had been one too many moments Harry had caught the blonde staring off into the distance, his normally piercing eyes hazed with a forlorn sort of darkness. It was disconcerting. He'd never seen Draco so detached from himself before. Why in the world he tried to kill himself was…

Harry hissed irately. This was not at all what he needed to be thinking about.

He spit out his toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, splashing cold water on his face in hopes of clearing his mind. He'd left his flat so that he could make a fair decision, and this was definitely not fair. Being here with Draco, it…it was clouding his judgment. He needed to leave, and probably as soon as possible. Harry grabbed his jeans and shirt from the floor and began stripping out of Draco's pajamas. When he was finished dressing, he folded the nightclothes and set them neatly on the counter. His hands lingered over the fabric for an extended moment, silently memorizing the way it felt beneath his fingertips. It was so soft. Almost as soft as Draco's hair when—Harry gave an annoyed huff and recoiled his hand. Why? Why was this _always_ happening to him?

Harry spun on his heal and stalked out of the bathroom. What he needed was somebody who could tell him what to do. But the only people he ever really talked to these days were Ginny, Ron and Hermione. The former was obviously out of the question, and the latter two had betrayed his trust. Ron and Hermione had kept the secret of his lost memories from him—they had looked him straight in the eye and lied. Harry felt a fresh wave of anger bloom in his chest. How had they been able to do it, after everything they'd been through? Draco, at least, had been absent for the past year—he hadn't had any occasion to lie. But Ron and Hermione had seen him nearly every week. The three of them had spent countless hours together, and they had known all along. Maybe he did want to speak to them, for nothing else but to see the look on their faces when he told them that he knew.

Newly resolved, Harry made for the door. His hand twisted the silver doorknob and he was halfway through the doorway when—

_Crash_!

Harry hit something, hard, and toppled to the ground, the sound of clattering metal ringing freshly in his ears. Blinking, Harry looked around and saw Draco lying on the floor next to him, covered in white filmy liquid. The two boys stared at each other for a suspended moment, mouths gaping.

Draco scowled, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Bloody hell, Harry, do you always burst through doors like you're aiming to tackle someone to the ground? Though I suppose I should congratulate you on achieving the affect you were going for." The blonde began gathering up the spilled remnants of what had obviously once been a rather luscious breakfast, and piled them onto the silver tray he'd been carrying.

Harry stared at the mess distractedly. "Draco, what's all of this?"

"Well it _was_ breakfast. What it is now is all of my hard work wasted on this unthankful floor."

"_Your_ hard work? You cooked this?"

Draco looked at him then, and his eyes were sharper than the tip of a blade. "Yes I cooked. I'm no muggle but I know how a bloody frying pan works. The makers of the whisk, however, will be receiving a very ugly letter in the not so distant future." The blonde's gaze dropped. "And to add insult to injury, the slippers I got you are absolutely ruined."

Harry followed the trail of the other boy's gaze and blanched. He'd put back on the red slippers instead of his trainers. Though it was honestly quite hard to tell what they were now. They were covered with eggs and cheese, and absolutely drenched with milk.

"Honestly, Harry, I don't—ow!" Draco hissed in pain and brought his finger to his lips.

Heart leaping into his throat, Harry scrambled towards him. "Are you alright?" He reached out to pull Draco's finger from his mouth, remembering a moment too late that they probably shouldn't be touching. Harry stared down at the small line of red that was blossoming over the blonde's fair skin.

"I'm fine," Draco answered, his voice suddenly breathless and very close. "I just cut myself on a piece of glass is all."

"At this rate, come nightfall I'm not going to have a shirt left."

Draco hummed questioningly.

Harry looked up at him and was startled to see his face so near. Yet, even at this distance everything about him was perfect. His skin was so flawlessly smooth and pale it seemed to reflect the surrounding light with an ethereal luminance, and his long pale lashes curled like wisps of clouds against the stormy grey sky of his eyes. Harry blushed, realizing that he had meant to speak but had forgotten what he was about to say.

"I—I meant, what with having to bandage you up so often," Harry stuttered. Lowering his gaze, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up to press the cloth against Draco's bleeding finger. He watched in silence as the grey material slowly faded to a deep red.

The blonde hummed again, though this time it was a sound of breathless content.

Harry chanced a look up, but no stormy sky of grey met his gaze. Instead, Draco's were lowered, fixated on the exposed skin of Harry's stomach. Flushing, the Gryffindor cleared his throat softly. The sound seemed to pull Draco back.

"I see you've dressed," Draco said, smirking. "Were you headed somewhere?"

Harry's flush deepened. He knew he shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to leave, but he did anyway. "I—" Harry struggled for words, "—how's your arm?"

"You know, strangely enough, I actually missed how you always answer questions with questions."

The small jab was enough to shake Harry of his embarrassment. "And also, strangely enough, I didn't miss how you always avoid the subject."

Draco smiled brightly and leaned in closer. Harry stared at him in reminiscent awe, admiring the way his hair seemed to glow in the morning light. "And what is the subject exactly, Harry?" Draco's voice was a deep purr, and its vibrations seemed to dance along the surface of Harry's skin, plucking at his nerves.

"Your arm, of course," Harry replied with some difficulty. He was suddenly very aware of just how tightly he was holding the blonde's hand. But he was perhaps even more aware of how the backs of Draco's fingers would brush the skin of his stomach ever so lightly whenever he breathed in.

"And why is it not where you're going?"

"What?" Harry pulled Draco's hand away from his body, trying to reclaim his senses.

Draco shifted on his knees, moving almost imperceptibly closer. Harry's grip on his hand tightened even more. "I meant," Harry could feel Draco's breath on his face when he spoke, "that I asked my question before you asked yours. Why is mine being ignored?"

Harry blanched. "Because, mine's more important."

"That's a matter of opinion I think."

"Draco, I hardly think that…" then something made Harry stop. Draco's eyes had shifted to the far wall, the sharp silver abruptly fading to an ashen grey. Harry glance back, following Draco's gaze, but saw nothing more than the empty sunlit hall. He turned back slowly. "Draco?"

But the blonde didn't seem to hear him. Harry watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as his lips parted soundlessly. He'd seen this look on the blonde before, in his visions, and last night in the parlor—that empty forlorn look that ensnared nothing but darkness. Abandoning Draco's bleeding hand, Harry grabbed his shoulders, shaking him hard. "Draco!"

Draco's eyelids fluttered, and he seemed to lose his balance for a moment before his eyes finally focused on Harry's. The Slytherin frowned faintly, "Sorry, were you saying something?" Without waiting for a response, Draco pulled away from Harry's grasp and pushed himself to his feet. "Binky! Come clean this up!"

Harry, too, hoisted himself up to his feet. "Draco?"

"Yes?" Draco wasn't looking at him again.

Harry glanced behind him once more, and by the time he turned back around Draco was already retreating into his room. Heart jumping, Harry rushed after him. "Draco!" Harry grabbed for the other boy's arm and missed. "Is something going on? What were you looking at just now?"

"Looking at?" Draco replied distractedly. He made his way over to his closet, pulling open the double doors and disappearing inside.

Harry followed, stopping in the doorway and putting a hand on the frame to steady himself. For some reason the ground felt like it was shifting under his feet. Draco stood at the back of his, rather large, closet, cloaked in shadow. His head was bent, his blonde hair falling gracefully over his eyes and his fingers began working at the buttons of his milk sodden shirt.

"Draco?" Harry's voice shook ever so slightly. "Was it the voice?"

Draco's shoulders went tense. He peeled his shirt from his torso and threw it to the ground. "It's not something you need to worry about, Harry."

Harry's eyes trailed down the pale line of Draco's collarbone, down the slope of his shoulder to the curve of his bandaged forearm. His gaze was then pulled to Draco's other arm, and the shock of black that stood out so sharply against his pale skin—the ugly image of a snake intertwined with a skull, its long body protruding from the skull's mouth like a demonic tongue. Taking a deep breath, Harry replied, "I think I'm going to worry about it whether you like it or not."

The blonde's head lifted for but a moment. "Are you going to tell me where were you going in such a hurry this morning?"

For some reason the lack of feeling in Draco's words made Harry's chest ache with guilt. "I was going to see Ron and Hermione."

"What for? Not for tea and crumpets I suppose?"

"No," Harry said heavily, "not for tea and crumpets."

Draco's hands busied themselves by sifting through the lower rod of his closet. Harry's ears prickled at the soft rhythmic sound of hangers shifting and clicking together. He finally seemed to settle on a maroon button down, and as the blonde slipped it over his shoulders, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. It was the shirt he had bought Draco that day in Diagon Alley. The swell of emotions that memory brought back was like a punch in the gut. He felt it sharply—his connection to the boy that stood before him now—as tangible and real as the wood beneath his hand. So much time had passed, and yet the memory was as potent as if it had just happened yesterday.

When Draco looked at him, his eyes were like a flash of light in the darkness. "So why are you going then?"

Harry hadn't realized before that moment that he'd been staring. He cleared his throat, flushing. "I need someone to help me sort out my thoughts."

"Well Granger I understand then, but you'll just be banging your head against a dull and rather idiotic brick wall with Weasley."

"Draco, if you're still hearing a voice, don't you think—"

"Leave it alone, Harry," Draco snapped, his tone sharper than the point of a needle.

Harry shrank back, stung.

"Look," the blonde stepped forward, his brow suddenly tight, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pop off at you like that, but really…I'm fine."

Harry's hand tightened around the doorframe. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

Draco shrugged, as if the light gesture could somehow cut through the tension between them. "Then I guess you'll just have to trust me."

Trust. Right. Like that was going to happen anytime soon. Sighing, Harry turned, unable to face the other boy any longer. "So," he continued with some difficulty, "I guess I'll head off then."

"Your welcome to grab a fresh change of clothes before you leave."

Harry felt himself stiffen at the thought of wearing Draco's clothes—the smell of his cologne surrounding him throughout the day. "No, it's fine," Harry said, shaking his head. "I've got clothes at Grimmauld Place."

There was a long strenuous pause. "So, you aren't going to be back tonight then?"

"I don't know," was all Harry could reply. It was the truth after all. He had no idea what he was going to do. What he did know, however, was that the thought of spending another night with Draco terrified him almost as much as it excited him. He wondered if that would ever change. "Hey, Draco?" Harry found the words spilling over his lips before he could stop them. "Do you ever wish you could go back?"

For some reason the silence at Harry's back sent shivers down his spine.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think you would change what you did…if you had the ability to go back and change it?"

"You mean like…if I had a Time Turner that could go back that far?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I know you said before that you never regret things, but I guess I'm asking if you regret this."

There was a sudden wave of heat at Harry's back, and as the Gryffindor took his next breath his senses were saturated with Draco's scent. Harry felt his body give a violent jolt, every inch of him suddenly aware of the blonde's presence, and his pulse flying at the feeling of hot breath on the small of his neck.

"There are a lot of things now, I suppose, that I can say I regret," Draco's voice was as soft and graceful as a snowflake falling on a calm winter night. "But nothing so deeply as making you forget…and nothing so little as making you remember again."

For a moment, Harry was quite sure his knees were going to give way beneath him, but they somehow held firm. He had to swallow several times before his tongue actually allowed a response. "Ditto."

"I love you, Harry."

Harry's throat tightened once more. "I—er—I have to go." Harry left without looking back, because he knew if he looked, he would never leave.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Oh! Hallo, Harry," Ron greeted Harry at the front door to his and Hermione's flat. "Back so soon? Hermione's still out for lunch but—"

"—I know," Harry blurted out flatly.

Ron smiled and shifted, looking somewhat confused by Harry's tone. "Know about Hermione going out to lunch?"

"No. I know about everything that I forgot."

Ron's face went abruptly blank. "I—what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about what happened last summer!" Harry gestured impatiently. "I remember everything!"

"W—Who told you?"

Harry pushed past him and made his way down the entry hall and into the living room. Seeing Ron hadn't made him nearly as upset as he'd hoped it would. Instead he just felt numb, and maybe a little scared too. His nerves were still buzzing from everything Draco had said to him that morning.

He'd spent the past few hours at Grimmauld Place, pacing in his room and trying to figure out how in the world he was going to survive this. He'd owled his coach to make sure that his lie to Ginny was safely covered, but of course that had only made him feel worse. Something was broken inside him, like he was a machine with a key part missing. Every time he tried to pull his thoughts away from Draco, they just looped right back again. And when he thought of Ginny…there was nothing but a deep-seated dread that if he stayed with her, he would have to go on pretending everything was normal between them. If he stayed with her, he knew he would never be able to talk to her about that horrible summer, or how he felt, or how it still hurt. He'd thought about asking Draco how to give Ginny her memories back as well, but immediately decided against it. He couldn't force her to relive something like that. She was blissfully unaware of the lie in her mind at least—a luxury that Harry had never been granted—and she was all the happier because of it. Didn't she deserve that?

A funny thing had happened then. Harry, musing over his thoughts, came across a curious discovery. Here he was justifying to himself why Ginny should forget, and yet, wasn't that exactly the thing that Draco, Ron, and Hermione had done to him? Wasn't that what he was so upset about? In that moment he had understood why they had made the decision that they did. So if he understood it, could he really justify being angry about it?

"No one told me," Harry said slowly. "Draco gave my memories back."

Ron's sharp intake of breath seemed to suck all the air out of the room. "But that…that's impossible. Obliviation spells can't be reversed."

"Well obviously they can."

Ron shook his head, his neck and cheeks flaring with a remarkably bright shade of red. "No, there must be some mistake. I…" The redhead trailed off, and without another word stalked out of the living room. Harry stared after him silently, wondering for a moment if he had been too ashamed to continue the conversation, but the sound of rustling papers and slamming doors told him otherwise. Ron returned a few moments later, his right hand curled tightly around something Harry couldn't see. He thrust his hand out towards Harry, his fingers opening to reveal a small wooden star shaped keychain.

Harry felt as if a bludger had just hit him in the stomach, and he couldn't quite get enough air in his lungs as he breathed. "Where did you get this?"

Ron's blue eyes narrowed. "You gave it to me, remember? At St. Mungo's."

Harry couldn't say that he did remember. After all, when he'd woken up, he hadn't known what the keychain was—it had been such an insignificant little thing to him then. Gingerly, Harry took the keychain from Ron's palm. He turned it over in his hands, running his thumb across the sharp crack that split its center and trying to ignore the heavy pressure that was building just behind his eyes.

"Tell me what this is," Ron said, his voice cutting through the silence like the rap of a hammer.

"What do you mean?"

"If you remember, then tell me what it is."

Harry looked up at the other boy. "You don't believe me?"

Ron sighed heavily. "Please, Harry? Just tell me."

Harry clenched his teeth together to hold back his protest, and turned his gaze back to the keychain. Was reversing an Obliviation spell really so impossible? "I—it's the charm that helped bring Draco back when that spell he cast rebounded."

"And who gave it to you?"

"Luna, at my birthday party."

"And who did she go to your party with?"

"Like you would know, you weren't even there!" Harry snapped, a little unkindly. "Look, Ron, trust me alright? I remember."

Rom held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright, I trust you. But you have to admit, Harry, this is quite a blow. Merlin, after everything we went through to make it all work…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair as his eyes shifted in thought. "So I guess you're pretty peeved at Hermione and I then? You have to know that we wouldn't have let Malfoy do it if we didn't think that—"

"I do know," Harry said, his voice softer this time. "And I'm not mad really…just confused by everything, I guess. It's a lot to take in." Harry made his way towards the sofa and took a seat, still running his fingers over the star shaped charm in his hand. There were so many things that he wanted to say—so many things that he knew he _should_ say, but he didn't even know where to start. It was worse too that Hermione wasn't here. How could he just up and tell Ron all the things he was thinking about his sister? _Oh, so you remember that time your sister was possessed? Well I know it didn't freak me out when I was twelve, but for some reason the second time around just didn't set as well with me. I know she still loves me, and I know she doesn't remember any of it, but buggering her just isn't as appealing to me anymore. So the wedding is off. Oh yeah, and I kind of still have the hots for Malfoy._ Harry snorted. Yeah, this was going to go over splendidly.

Ron gingerly lowered himself into the armchair to Harry's right. His shoulders were tensed, betraying his uneasy nerves. "So, how are you going to tell Ginny?"

Harry blanched. That was definitely the last question he had expected. "How am I going to tell her what?"

"How are you going to tell her," Ron wrung his fingers together, "that you're leaving her for Malfoy?"

Heat spread across Harry's face like a wave, cresting along the bridge of his nose. "Who said anything about leaving her?"

The redhead grimaced, his lips pressing into a thin line as his brow furrowed. "You know, I remember the way you looked at him that day when you woke up at St. Mungo's, like you were lit up from the inside. Merlin knows I've tried to forget it, but I've never been able to. And the only reason I agreed to let Malfoy Obliviate you was because I thought that, one day, you could look at Ginny like that too. So I waited, and I watched—I watched your face every time she entered the room thinking today might be the day. I thought, maybe if you had enough time…" Ron lowered his gaze, finding a particular interest in a dark stain on the floor. "Over the past year, I've never once seen you look at her the way you looked at Malfoy that day. Not once."

Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest, faster and faster until he could feel nothing more than a steady vibration.

"And, Harry, I know we're mates and all, but I can't let you do that to my little sister. I can't let you marry her knowing that your heart isn't all the way in it."

Swallowing thickly, Harry tried to remember how to breathe. "Ron…I do still love Ginny." It wasn't a lie. Harry did still love her, but it was the version of her that would be forever locked away in the past. Ginny wasn't the same girl he'd fallen in love with at Hogwarts, just as Draco wasn't the boy he'd hated. Last summer had changed them all…and they could never go back.

"I don't doubt that you do," Ron shook his head, a sad smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. "But, as much as I hate to say it, you also still love him."

For some reason, Ron's words were like shards of realization digging into his heart. Harry still loved Draco. He still _loved_ him. The clarity of that thought was so powerful that its wake left him feeling lightheaded and not all the way there. Why it had taken somebody else's words to drive the nail home, Harry didn't know. He'd been so naïve over the past couple days. How could he have possibly thought he could be with Ginny, knowing how Draco made him feel—knowing that every way she touched him would pale in comparison to the way Draco had touched him. His fate had been decided the moment Draco had made him remember.

Every muscle in Harry's body seemed to go tense as he leapt to his feet. "I'm sorry, Ron, but I have to go."

Ron goggled up at him. "Go? But you just got here!"

But Harry wasn't listening—his wand was already in his hand, poised for apparition.

"Harry, what are you going to tell Ginny?"

Harry closed his eyes, holding an image in his mind.

"Harry!"

And with a sounding pop, Harry was gone.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Binky met him at the front gate of Malfoy Manor, staring up at him with large doe eyes. "Yes, Master Potter, sir?"

"I need to see Draco. It's urgent."

Binky blinked rapidly, looking flustered. "Oh, but the Master is out on urgent business, sir. But you are welcome to wait for him Master Potter, sir."

Out? Harry frowned deeply. What sort of urgent business could the Slytherin have so late in the afternoon? "Well, can you tell me where he is?"

"Binky isn't knowing where Master Malfoy is, sir."

"Alright," Harry said with a shaky sigh. "I guess I'll just wait for him then."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>So yus...I know nothing really happened in this chapter, but that's because I had to set up for the major plot stuff coming up in the next chapter! I do wonder where Draco has run off to...hmmmmmmm!<p>

**Review if... :P ...oh dash it all I'm too braindead to think of anything clever! How about: Review...or else!**


	11. Knockturn Alley

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Look I'm still alive! Yay! As usual, sorry for the horribly late update QnQ

And many many thanks to my awesome beta, **ThexBlairxWitch**!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_I may seem crazy, or painfully shy_

_And these scars wouldn't be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye_

_I feel alone here and cold here_

_Though I don't want to die_

_But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside_

_I do not want to be afraid_

_I do not want to die inside just to breathe in_

_I'm tired of feeling so numb_

_Relief exists, I find it when I am cut_

-Plumb

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>The air in Knockturn Alley always seemed to smell fouler than the air in Diagon Alley. Draco had never understood why that was exactly. The stores sold the same basic supplies, and as for the merchandise that wasn't so basic, well, he hardly thought that any witch or wizard would buy anything illegal <em>here<em> unless they were aiming for discretion. The prices were lofty for a reason after all. You didn't pay for the product so much as the knowledge that no one else would know you were buying it. And with that sort of reputation to uphold, people weren't exactly encouraged to test their lethal smoke bombs out in the street. Yet still that repulsive stench clung to the alley like vines to a wall, shrouding it with a marker of warning to those who may have lost their way.

Draco, however, had not lost his way. The heels of his boots clacked with purpose along the cobblestone streets, his eyes focused straight ahead and never straying, just like his father had taught him. The last rays of the day's sunlight struggled to reach over the tops of the dark buildings, but it was largely in vain—the ghastly green glow of the lamplights were the only thing that kept Draco's footing sure.

He arrived at the doorstep of Borgin & Burkes not a minute later. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been followed, the blonde opened the door and slid into the shop. A small bell chimed, alerting whoever was manning the store of his presence.

"Who goes there?" Draco recognized the voice as Caractacus Burke's.

"Draco Malfoy," the Slytherin called in return. Not bothering to wait to be invited further in, he slunk through the rows of dusty shelves towards the main counter, careful not to disturb anything as he passed. Rounding the corner, Draco found himself directly in front of the small old man, who was busy shelving a new shipment of hippogriff beaks.

Burke turned his head slowly, his milky eyes grazing across Draco's face with flitting interest. "So it is you, then," the old man said. "I thought that all you Malfoys had killed yourselves off or something."

Draco's stomach tightened, but his face betrayed nothing as he replied, "Not just yet, I'm afraid."

"I'm glad. It would've been a pity if all that money had gone to waste."

This time, Draco didn't bother hiding his scowl. "Do you want my business or don't you?"

Burke smiled. "Come this way, Mr. Malfoy," he said in a voice that reminded Draco of old crumpled parchment. Burke set down the remaining hippogriff beaks in his arms and began shuffling towards the front of the shop. Draco followed, trying his best not to be irritated by the elder man's slow pace. Borgin and Burke really needed to think about getting some younger employees. But then again, the last time they had done that, their employee had become the Dark Lord. Statistically speaking, hiring wasn't in their best interest.

Though it had taken longer than Draco had thought possible, the two finally reached the checkout counter. Burke hobbled around to the back of it, his legs looking about ready to give way with each step. When he finally reached the other side, he leaned heavily against the counter's edge, supporting his weight on his forearms.

"So," Burke's eyes moved over Draco once more, "what can I do you for, Mr. Malfoy?"

The blonde pulled a deep breath into his lungs, holding it there for a long moment before releasing it. "I need a Time Turner."

Burke nodded. "Well, the Ministry has been pretty stringent about collecting the ones that are still floating around on the market, but I've got a couple in the back that—"

"I wasn't finished," Draco said coolly, a perfect imitation of his old Slytherin self. "What I'm looking for specifically is a _reverse_ Time Turner."

The old man's jaw literally dropped. "But—that's insane," Burke sputtered, shaking his head. "Those things are dangerous. The magic in them isn't even close to being perfected, not to mention they're extraordinarily rare—"

"I'll pay you triple what one of them is worth."

The mention of such a large sum of money rendered Burke momentarily silent. Draco would've offered more, if he hadn't thought the man could be won for less. He silently thanked his father for leaving the family fortune intact. If he was going to fail in overcoming this, at least it wouldn't be because of a lack of resources.

"Triple, you say?" Burke seemed to have regained control of his vocal cords, and his jaw was twitching in the same way it always did when he was calculating numbers in his head. "It would…take a little time to get in."

"So you'll do it?"

"And I can't guarantee that it will work."

"But you'll do it?' Draco asked, a little louder this time.

Burke nodded. "Aye. For ten thousand galleons, I'll do it." The old man offered Draco his hand.

The blonde didn't even hesitate to take it. Their hands gripped each other firmly and shook once before dropping to their sides again.

"I'll have it shipped straight to you," Burked said, grabbing for a quill and parchment. He began scribbling down something in a language Draco was quite sure wasn't English. "Are you still living at Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, but don't send it there." Draco's lips quirked in thought. Borgin & Burkes might have been discreet about their transactions, but the public owl service certainly wasn't, and knowing the Ministry all mail going to and coming from Malfoy Manor was still under observation. He would have to find someplace else—someplace where he could lay low for a couple of days.

"I'm going to be in town for a few days for business," the blonde continued, "over at the Scalding Cauldron. Have a house elf bring the parcel to my room when it arrives."

Burke's quill paused, and he looked up at Draco curiously. "A house elf?"

The Slytherin leveled him with the coldest of his signature glares. "Did I stutter?"

Draco watched the elder man shrink back with a certain pleasure, contented that he hadn't lost his touch. He hadn't earned the title of Ice Prince at Hogwarts for nothing.

Burke swallowed thickly. "The Scalding Cauldron, you said?"

"That's right."

"I'll have it to you in a few days, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco gave a curt nod, and replied with a short, "Good," before turning on his heel to leave. But something stopped him in his tracks—a sort of all too familiar tingling at the base of his spine. The blonde turned back, a new hardness in the set of his shoulders.

"You don't happen to have any literature on demons do you?" The tingling became more insistent.

Burke, who had returned to his writing, looked up, blinking nervously. "Demons?"

"Yes."

"Nothing that your father didn't already own."

"Right." _That's what I was afraid of_. Shaking his head, Draco turned and left the shop, desperately hoping that he wouldn't have to wait long.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"I can't decide whether you're crazy or just plain stupid," the demon said, leaning against the lone grungy dust-caked window in Draco's room at the Scalding Cauldron.

Draco, who was busy rerunning through some calculations Gringotts had commissioned him for, scoffed. "Yes, well, that makes two of us."

"I mean, what is going _forward_ in time going to accomplish?"

"I am not having this conversation with you again." And he wasn't. Every day for the past four days the demon had come here, taunting Draco with his presence and asking the same questions over and over again. "Now, leave."

The demon clucked his tongue. "No need to be so abrasive, Draco." He pushed himself from the window's ledge and glided to Draco's side, running a long finger along the small of the blonde's neck. "I may actually start to believe that you don't like having me around."

Draco's jaw tensed, but otherwise he said nothing. He was no fool; he knew better than to push the demon's limits.

"So," the demon said, his hand still on Draco's neck, "if you're really so adamant about changing everything, why don't you just get a normal Time Turner and go _back_?"

The demon knew why—Draco had already told him—but he asked anyway, because he knew the question got under the Slytherin's skin. "Because," the blonde said slowly, his eyes no longer seeing the numbers on the parchment in front of him, "if I went back in time, I wouldn't be able to come back forward. I would have to wait for time to catch up, and if I were to come into contact with myself in that span of time…"

"Oh, space-time continuum, thou art a heartless bitch."

Draco nodded. He had considered it, of course—going back to that morning in St. Mungo's when he'd made Harry forget. That was where it had all started, after all. If he hadn't made Harry forget, then he wouldn't be in this mess right now. Heaven knew he had tried to figure out a way that it could work, but it simply wouldn't. It would be impossible for him to go back and convince himself to not cast that Obliviation spell, not only because interacting with his past self was illegal, but also because the meeting of a body from two different times was among the most dangerous magical acts that a wizard could perform. Even if Draco didn't communicate with himself directly, the chances of running into his past self while waiting out the year were too high.

So, he had conjured up a different plan. He would go forward in time, tell Harry everything, and ask him to help figure out how to stop the demon. That way, Draco would have all the time he needed—he could go forward to any time to find the spell's reversal. Surely, with both of them trying to figure it out, they would find something. Right?

It would work. It _had_ to work.

"It's not going to work," the demon chided. "I'm timeless, remember? No matter where you go, or what year you flee to, I'll be able to follow you."

"I'm aware. And I'm not trying to run if that's what you're worried about."

The demon snorted, but said nothing. Draco very nearly smiled.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping at the door. Stomach leaping up into his throat, the blonde stood as unexcitedly as he could muster. He walked over to the door and pulled it open. A small, very old house elf stood just outside his doorstep, cradling a small, paper-wrapped, package in her twig-like arms.

"You is Mr. Malfoy, sir?" she asked, in a tiny squeaky voice.

"Yes."

"Here you are then, sir." The elf held the package up to him.

With trembling fingers, Draco took the package and brought it to his chest. "Thank you. Tell Mr. Burke to expect a deposit in his Gringotts account in two days time."

"Yes, sir," she bowed deeply. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, sir."

Draco nodded curtly and closed the door. Holding his breath, the blonde made his way back over to the desk and resumed his seat. Gingerly, he set the package down in front of him. He couldn't believe it. It was finally here—the device that could potentially solve everything. His fingers trembled as he reached to untie the thin string that held the paper in place.

"I don't know why you're making this so suspenseful," the demon hissed in his ear.

Draco scowled and peeled back the layers of brown paper to find a small, plain wooden box. Picking the box up, he pressed his thumb against the edge of the opening and pushed. The old rusted hinges creaked in protest but the lid popped back easily enough. And there, cradled in black velvet cushion, was the Time Turner.

The demon's cold breath blew against Draco's ear. "You think that thing is going to solve all of your problems?" he jeered. "There doesn't seem to be a speck of magic in it!"

The Slytherin ignored him once more. Carefully, he lifted the small device from its velvet cradle, allowing it to dangle elegantly from its thin silver chain. Draco had never actually seen a real Time Turner before. It was smaller than he thought it would be, and much more fragile looking.

"There's a letter, if you hadn't noticed."

Draco blinked, looking back at the discarded wrapping paper. There was indeed a small folded piece of parchment that he seemed to have missed. Draco reached for it, unfolding it slowly.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_ I have enclosed within this parcel the only reverse Time Turner currently available on the black market now. I did not test the device before sending it (for obvious reasons), so naturally I am unaware if it actually works or not. Even if the device does work, keep in mind that magical objects such as these are often quite defective. I urge you to use it carefully._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Caractacus Burke_

_ P.S. The side knob has three settings: years, months, and days. The farthest out is years, the middle setting is months, and the farthest in is days. The ratio is one to one. The manufacturer informed me that you will then have fifteen minutes before you are transported back to the time you left from. Good luck._

"Defective, huh?" The demon's smile was clear in his voice. "That could be fun."

Fun definitely wasn't the word that Draco would've used. But if he could handle that bloody Vanishing Cabinet, he could handle this. If the Time Turner was defective, he would figure out a way to fix it.

Draco pushed himself up from his chair, folding the note and placing it in his pocket before guiding the Time Turner chain over his head. It felt oddly heavy against his chest. Nodding to himself, the Slytherin turned and marched over to his bed, grabbing his bag before moving swiftly for the door.

The demon glided after him silently. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"To see Harry," Draco replied with a sneer. "And you're not invited."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

_It worked_. Draco glanced around at the foggy, leaf littered street skeptically. It hadn't been raining before, right?

He was standing just outside of number twelve Grimmauld Place, tucked safely under an awning over the window of a neighboring house. He had traveled just less than a year forward in time—or exactly one year and three days from when he had struck the deal with the demon. If he was, in fact, dead, then he wouldn't be in any danger of seeing himself. If he _wasn't_ dead…well, then it was back to the past and straight into Harry's bed as far as he was concerned. Draco shivered silently as a thin mist sprayed against his face. Whichever it was, he wasn't going to find it out by standing here.

Fifteen minutes. He had to remember he only had fifteen minutes.

Taking a deep calming breath, Draco walked out into the rain. His hair and clothes were immediately drenched, but he was at least thankful that there wasn't a chill in the air. He marched up the stairs of the porch and whispered the password. Thankfully Harry hadn't changed it, and the door swung open.

Draco stepped into the entryway—it was as gloomy and poorly lit as he remembered. "Harry?" he called, gazing around the corner into the barren living room. "Harry, are you here?"

Silence was his only answer.

Grimacing, the blonde closed the door and ventured farther down the hall towards the kitchen, overly aware of how the floorboards groaned with his every step. It was then that something caught his eye. In the drawing room just to his left, there was a patch of parchment and newspaper clippings stuck to the wall with lines of red string that zigged and zagged between the papers like a tangled web. Curious, Draco turned to get a better look, but just at that moment a loud click echoed down the hall, followed by the sound of creaking wood.

Draco craned his neck to see a very wet Harry shuffling through the door. "Harry?"

Harry's entire body went stiff. His emerald eyes grazed through the shadows, and Draco saw his hand inch reflexively towards his wand pocket. "Who's there?"

The Slytherin held up his hands defensively, stepping forward into the light. "Harry, it's me. Listen—"

The sound of Harry's back slamming against the door cut him off. "Y—you…this can't be!" Harry shook his head vigorously, his complexion fading to a deathly pallor. "I—I was just at your funeral! I watched them bury you!"

"Harry, look, just calm down."

Harry's wand was drawn within an instant. He pointed it at Draco, looking as if he was about to be violently sick. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?" Harry's voice thundered, shaking the silence around them.

The floor began to tremble beneath them, and the glass on the surrounding lamps began to rattle as Harry's magic pulsed through the air. Draco's body froze, the hackles on the back of his neck rising from the tangible charge of electricity crackling between them.

"Harry," the blonde said gently, "please. It's me, and I don't have much longer. I'm from the past—I have a Time Turner that can go forward in time."

Harry's brow tightened, beads of water sliding down his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "…A Time Turner? But that's impossible—Time Turners can't go forward—"

"This one can. But I can only stay for fifteen minutes at a time."

Harry's wand lowered slightly, but Draco could tell he was still on guard. He could also tell that Harry was much thinner than he had been just one year ago, and that the hollows of his cheeks looked gaunt and sallow. Was he suffering because of Draco's death? But no, that wasn't right. Surely his appearance couldn't have changed so drastically in just three days.

"So, how long do you have left then?" Harry asked, snapping the blonde from his reverie.

Draco checked his watch, and his heart faltered. " About five minutes, which probably means I should just dive right into it. Alright, so first off—"

"Wait!" Harry snapped, his voice shaking with tension, and something else that Draco couldn't quite name. "How do I know it's you?"

"Harry—"

"Prove it to me! Tell me something only Draco would know!"

Shaking his head, the blonde pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think quickly. "Fine," he said, lowering his hand. "You have a birthmark on the back of your left thigh that kind of looks like a duck's head, and when I kiss you there you—"

"Not that!" Harry blushed furiously. "You've already practically told half of England about that."

Draco blinked, though he supposed he couldn't really say that he was surprised. Embarrassing Harry was one of his favorite pastimes, after all. But that was aside from the point—Harry wanted something more serious, more meaningful. "Well," he paused thoughtfully, "how about this then: do you remember our conversation from that morning you woke up in St. Mungo's?"

Emerald eyes narrowed. "Vaguely."

"I told you about the Lightwood charm, and how I had been lost in the dark. And then I heard you calling my name, and your voice was like the light of a lighthouse cutting through a storm to bring a ship safely home. I told you that you were my light."

Harry's wand clattered to the ground and fresh tears flooded into his eyes. For a moment, he stood very still, and Draco found himself trapped in that haunted stare. Then, in a blink Harry was standing in front of him, grabbing his arms and holding him tightly.

"Draco," tears began spilling over Harry's cheeks. "Draco, I feel so lost. You were dead and I didn't—"

"I still am dead, Harry," Draco said gently. As much as he wanted to console the other boy, he knew that he couldn't. There wasn't much time. "But that can be changed. I need you to help me with something."

"Anything."

"I don't know if I ever told you this, but I made a pact with a demon about a year ago. It was a trade—my soul for your memories."

"A demon?" Harry breathed.

Draco nodded, willing Harry to understand. "That's how I died. You have to help me figure out how to stop it."

"But…but that isn't how you died." Harry stared at him straight on, a moment of clarity seeming to sharpen his features. "You killed yourself."

Draco kept his expression trained, but he could feel all the blood draining from his cheeks. "No," he replied, "I'm sure that's just what the demon wanted it to look like. If I had you, then I would never have any reason to do anything like that."

Harry's lips quirked wretchedly, and Draco felt his pulse quicken.

"Harry…I do still have you, right?"

A new wave of tears blurred Harry's eyes. "Draco, you've always had me, but you don't know what's happened. You—"

"AH!" Pain exploded in Draco's head, causing his vision to burst into a flurry of white stars. His legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to the floor with a muffled thump. Harry's hands were still on him, shaking him hard.

"Draco? Draco!"

"Find out how to kill the demon, Harry!" Draco screamed, though he couldn't hear his own voice through the roaring in his ears. "I'll be back in a year! Be here!"

"Draco!"

Agony lanced through the Slytherin's head and shot down his spine. Draco tangled his fingers in his hair, pressing his eyes shut and trying to breathe through the pain that radiated through his limbs.

Then, suddenly, everything went silent.

"Draco?" Harry's voice seemed to cut through the air, sharp and clear.

Draco looked up, not quite sure if it was him shaking, or Harry. The Gryffindor's hands were still on his shoulders, but his face seemed fuller and his eyes were no longer brimmed with tears. "Harry?" he glanced around dazedly. "Is this real? Is this now?"

"Draco," Harry's fingers dug into Draco's shoulders, "where the hell have you been?"

The blonde pressed his hand against his chest, making sure that the Time Turner was safely tucked beneath his robes. For some reason he didn't want Harry to see it. "I stayed in a hotel in Diagon Alley for a couple days. I had to take care of something."

"A couple of days?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and his expression flickered with a dark grief. "Draco…it's been two weeks."

Time around them slammed to a stop. "What?" Draco breathed.

"You've been gone for two weeks."

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Ok so first off...I'm pretty sure that at this point in canon, Burke is supposed to be dead (he dies in like 1992 or something) buuuuuut this is me not really caring! No one actually cares about minor character's death right? Plus, how cool is the name Caractacus? Anyway, yus, obviously this story is no longer on hiatus and I can pretty much guarantee it won't ever be put there again. :) So that's good!<p>

**I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far :) You guys really are the greatest!**


	12. Two Weeks Later

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Annnnnnnd I'm officially graduated! I'm like...a real live adult now (which is just plain scary!). Anywho, I've actually been slaving over this story a lot lately, trying to tweak the plot and make everything fit together and all that jazz. Prepare yourself for an epic summer!

**ThexBlairxWitch **is truly the bestest best best best (did I mention best?) beta in the whole wide world! Without her...I surely would perish!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_Turn the lights down low_

_Walk these halls alone_

_We can feel so far from so close_

_Like ships in the night_

_You keep passing me by_

_We're just wasting time trying to prove who's right_

_And if it all goes crashing into the sea_

_If it's just you and me trying to find the light_

_Like ships in the night_

_You're passing me by_

_You're passing me by_

_Like ships in the night_

-Mat Kearney

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Harry didn't know what to think. The past two weeks had been nothing but an endless bombardment of moments filled to the brim with agony. He'd waited for Draco at Malfoy Manor for hours, until it was all he could manage just to keep his eyes open. He had considered staying the night, but for some reason being alone in that big empty mansion just hadn't felt right. So he'd left a message with Binky and returned to Grimmauld Place, fully expecting an owl from Draco to be waiting for him when he awoke the next morning. But no owl had come—not that day, or the next, or the next.<p>

So, after a few days, he'd sent an owl himself. Waiting by the window that day, his eyes restlessly searching the sky for a fleck of black, had been one of the worst. Atheria had come back the next morning with bare legs, and Harry had felt his heart crack.

And the dreams he'd been having—Harry shuddered. Unlike before, he hadn't been able to remember much when he woke up. They were just blurs of vivid moments followed by spans of black. But what he did know was that Draco was there, and that there was something dark following him, looming just over his head like a cloud of shadow. What he did know was that something wasn't right.

He had exchanged a few owls with Ginny, mostly filled with excuses about why he couldn't come home on his end, and gentle words of understanding on hers. Hermione and Ron had both owled him as well, expressing their wishes that he would come and visit them so that they could talk about what had happened, but Harry had ignored them. He just hadn't been in the mood to deal with his two best friends worrying over him, especially when his nerves were already worn to the quick over Draco's disappearance.

Two long agonizing weeks had passed. Then, not ten minutes ago he had heard the front door open and close. Heart in his throat, he had crept down the stairs, wand drawn…and there Draco had been, crouched on the floor, hands pressed against his temples. He'd barreled down the rest of the stairs and fallen to his knees in front of the blonde, grabbing him by the shoulders and practically screaming his name.

Harry had yelled Draco's name six times before the Slytherin even noticed he was there. Draco had looked at him then, his eyes misted with confusion.

"Harry? Is this real? Is this now?"

Real? Now? Harry blinked, mirroring Draco's confusion. How could this not be real? How could this not be now? Did the blonde think he was dreaming?

Harry dug his fingers deeper into Draco's shoulders, if only to show him just how real this was, though he could hardly believe the reality of it himself. "Draco, where the hell have you been?"

Draco glanced around, seeming to realize once and for all where he really was. His muscles twitched beneath Harry's fingertips. "I stayed in a hotel in Diagon Alley for a couple days." His voice sounded strangely hoarse and raw. "I had to take care of something."

"A couple of days?" Harry repeated, his eyes narrowing as a dark thought crept into the back of his mind. Was Draco lying to him? He searched those grey eyes restlessly, trying to find any hint of deception. But he'd never been able to see through the Slytherin's masks, and this one was no different. Harry could tell he was hiding something though—of that much, at least, he was sure. "Draco…it's been two weeks."

The words made the blonde's breath catch in his throat. "What?"

Harry clenched his teeth against the emotion that was threatening to take hold of him. "You've been gone for two weeks." _Two weeks…and you didn't send me a single word_.

Draco's entire body seemed to go stiff, and all the color drained from his face. He looked ragged—worn to the bone—as if he hadn't eaten or slept in days. "Two weeks? Two weeks…but that's…" The Slytherin's hand tightened around the cloth of his robes on his chest, his eyes darting furiously in thought.

"Exactly how long do you think you've been gone?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "Four days, maybe five? Like I said before, after you left my house I went to stay in Diagon Alley, and…" He trailed off once more.

"So you're saying…you don't remember anything from the last ten or so days? Nothing at all?"

"If it really has been that long…then no," Draco replied softly, still not looking at him.

This was impossible. Sure Draco hadn't been the most stable as of late, but people didn't just forget things. Unless—"Draco, you don't think someone obliviated you, do you?"

Draco did look at him then, his eyes large and gleaming like the surface of a still lake. "Who would obliviate me?"

"I don't know," Harry shook his head, trying hard to keep the frustration out of his voice. "But what other explanation is there?"

The blonde's hand clenched at his chest once more as his brow furrowed in thought. His gaze dropped to the floor, and his lips pressed together in a hard thin line. "No, it couldn't have been that. The first thing I remember after Diagon Alley is being here—if someone had obliviated me then that would mean that they would've had to do it right here in your entryway. You would've seen them."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Well, then what could it have been?"

"I don't know, Harry."

"Do you think that it has something to do with that voice you've been hearing?"

Grey eyes flashed. "I. Don't. Know," Draco hissed.

The tone of Draco's words ignited Harry's temper like a spark on tinder. He jerked his hands back from the Slytherin's shoulders and rose to his feet, his chest swelling. "Well forgive me for being concerned about you! I _thought_ that this was what you wanted when you gave me my memories back! I _thought_ that you wanted me to love you!"

The change in Draco's expression was immediate. His face went completely slack, and his eyes widened with surprise. And then a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and all the darkness in his features seemed to slip away in a single instant. "Harry James Potter," he said slowly, his smile pulling up into a smirk, "did you just say that you loved me?"

"I—" Harry's anger faltered as a blush crested across the bridge of his nose. "—No I didn't." The Gryffindor clenched his fists stubbornly. "I said that I thought you wanted me to."

"I do," Draco replied without hesitation. "So…do you?"

"I…" Harry sighed heavily, feeling the last of his anger drop down into the pit of his stomach like a stone. "Can you even stand?"

Draco glanced down, looking as if he hadn't even realized he was still sitting. He shrugged elegantly. "I don't really know. Do you love me?"

Harry offered his hand, which the blonde took. His skin wasn't as soft as Harry remembered—his palm was blistered and his fingers were calloused. Harry pulled the blonde to his feet, only to have Draco fall heavily against him.

"Well, I guess that answers that question." Draco tried to laugh, but Harry could hear the strain in the sound. Harry knew better than most that Draco hated appearing weak, especially in front of him.

Harry guided the Slytherin's arm over his shoulder. "Here, lets get you upstairs and cleaned up. Then I'll make you a grilled cheese and some tomato soup. How does that sound?"

"It sounds an awful lot like you trying to tell me you love me and failing miserably."

Harry gave a snort of laughter. "Draco—" He was cut off by a sharp rapping at the front door. The pair turned. "I…" Harry gazed around helplessly. "Kreacher!" he yelled. "Could you get the door please?"

With a loud pop, Kreacher appeared in front of the door, grumbling irately as usual. The elf reached up with his small wrinkled hand and turned the doorknob slowly. The door creaked open.

"Harry?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Ron?"

Kreacher retreated out of the hall as Ron slid into the entryway, followed closely by Ginny. Harry's heart stuttered, and he felt himself freeze. His eyes connected with Ginny's, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to sink down through the floor. Distantly, he felt Draco pull away from his side to support himself on the staircase railing, and he was quite sure the blonde had whispered something in his ear, but everything seemed to have gone mute. All he could see was Ginny's eyes, blue and cracking like glass as they flitted between he and Draco.

"Merlin," Ron pushed the word out in a heavy breath. "I didn't know you weren't alone. Malfoy, I—Harry I'm sorry, I really didn't know."

The sound of Ron's voice was enough to pull Harry from his stupor. "Ron, what's going on?" He inched closer to Draco, wishing to feel the comforting heat of the other boy's body beside him.

"Harry, look, you weren't answering any of my letters and—"

'Harry," Ginny didn't say it loudly, yet even so the whole room seemed to go still. She looked so fragile standing there in her blue cotton dress with her red hair shading her face. "I—I thought you were at a Quidditch camp. I—what's going on? Why is Malfoy here?"

There were too many questions and Harry wasn't sure which he should try and answer first. He didn't see why he should answer any of them at all. None of the answers he had were going to make anything better. But…this wasn't how he had wanted to do this. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"Ginny, I…" His tongue was so dry it felt like sandpaper as it rubbed against the top of his mouth.

"You shouldn't have brought her here, Weasley," Draco interjected sourly. "It wasn't any of your business."

"She's my sister," Ron retorted with equal venom. "And Harry's been dodging her for three fucking weeks. It's not right! And I'm not just going to sit around and let her be made a fool of!"

"Ron, I was going to tell her when the time was right! You don't even know what's been going on the past couple of weeks!"

Ginny blinked dazedly. "Tell me what?"

Ron's shoulders were beginning to shake, and the flush in his skin was deepening. "Well maybe if you would answer my letters I would know what was going on! You can't just keep leaving people in the dark, Harry! Especially Ginny! She's your fiancé for Merlin's sake!"

"No she's not!" The still in the room that followed those words was so brittle it could be shattered with a breath. No one moved. No one spoke. The four of them just stood there in that dimly lit hallway, each of them wishing they were somewhere else very far away.

Ginny was the first to break the silence. "What—what are you saying?"

Harry took a deep rattling breath. "I'm saying…" He glanced back at Draco, trying to find resolve in that steady grey gaze. "I'm saying that I can't be with you anymore."

"So…the wedding is off then? You and me—we're done?"

Harry couldn't look at her anymore. He didn't want to see the way she was looking at him right now. "Yes, Ginny. We're done."

The following moment of silence was like a knife in Harry's gut. "Why? Because of him?"

Harry could only assume that she meant Draco. Guilt shot through his heart like a bolt of lighting, igniting his blood and making his nerves flutter so violently he was sure he was going to be sick. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen at all.

"Yes."

The door flew open, and for a moment the entryway was cut through by a beam of sunlight, stark and crisp and bright as it bathed the hall in its glow. Then the door slammed shut, and the following dimness seemed so much darker than before.

"Merlin, Harry…"

Harry looked up to see Ron, standing with his hand on the doorknob, ready to follow his sister but hesitant to make the final movement. The flush had been drained from his face and replaced with a pale dread. "Harry," he said slowly, "you have to know that I thought you were alone. I didn't mean to yell before. I didn't think—"

"No you didn't think," Draco snapped unkindly. "Now get out before you break anything else that isn't yours to break."

"Last time I checked, Malfoy, this wasn't your house, so if you think you can just—"

"Just leave, Ron," Harry said, crossing his arms tiredly over his chest and leaning back against the railing beside Draco. Ron threw him a pained look, but he waved it off. "I'm not mad, this is just…a lot to deal with right now. I'll owl you later alright?"

Ron just nodded timidly. "Alright, Harry." With an agitated sort of sigh, the redhead opened the door and slid outside.

The following silence was deafening.

"Merlin," Draco expelled a heavy breath, "it's so strange isn't it."

"What is?" Harry asked mechanically.

"A moment like that," the blonde said, his breath soft and warm against the side of Harry's face, "where your whole life changes and you never even saw it coming. It's just so funny…how fast it can happen—how sudden it can all be—something like that."

"Yeah."

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"I—" Harry shook himself, gazing over at the blonde helplessly. For some reason, he looked different then—more in focus than he had been before. This was it. Draco was everything he had now. It seemed so final all of a sudden. Not that it wasn't what he had wanted, but it was still strange, having this reality slammed in his face so abruptly. "I think we should be getting you upstairs and cleaned up."

Draco smiled, but it was tight and obviously strained. He allowed Harry to slide underneath his arm and hoist him up once more. Together they made their way up the stairs without much difficulty, but every step seemed like a punch in Harry's stomach. Reality was breathing down the back of his neck, and he couldn't seem to shake it off. Harry led Draco into the bathroom, and he propped the blonde up against the counter and began working on the buttons of his shirt.

He didn't miss the way Draco smiled when his hands began to shake. Harry pursed his lips. "What?"

Draco shook his head. "Nothing," he smirked. "You."

"What about me?"

Harry felt Draco's cool slender fingers on his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "Harry…its okay if you're upset. You _should_ be upset. She was your fiancé, and Weasley shouldn't have brought her here like that."

"Yeah," Harry's voice cracked slightly, despite himself. He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the intense burning sensation behind his eyes. "But I shouldn't be upset. I mean…this is what had to happen. I was going to leave her anyway. I was…" But he couldn't finish. Hot tears spilled over his cheeks, and he pulled Draco's hand from his chin because he couldn't stand the fact that he was falling apart like this. He had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? Then why did getting what he wanted hurt this badly?

And then Draco's lips were on his cheek, kissing the tears away, and soft whispered words were curling down his ears, easing the pain in his heart. "Harry," Draco breathed as his hands blanketed Harry's neck, "it's okay. It's okay if you need to cry." His thumbs trailed feather-light circles on Harry's jaw. "I love you so much. It's okay."

Harry practically fell against him. He buried his face in the Slytherin's shoulder, and the fabric of his shirt smelled like smoke, but Harry didn't care. All he cared about was how warm Draco's body was against his—warm and solid and real. He wanted to drown himself in that body.

Draco's fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him in closer. Then Harry felt a jolt, and suddenly they were falling. Harry's knees hit the tile with a sickening crack and he couldn't help the cry of pain that surged up his throat. Then he felt Draco go slack in his arms, and all thoughts of pain left Harry's mind in a flash. He pushed himself back, holding the blonde at arms length.

A soft breathless sound spilled over Draco's lips, like he was trying to laugh but couldn't quite muster the sound. "Sorry," he said, smiling. "I guess I'm not quite up to you being on top of me just yet—not that I'm complaining mind you."

"Draco…" Harry sniffled, and wiped his face with the back of his arm. "Don't be ridiculous. Merlin, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking and—" Harry was silenced by Draco's fingers against his lips.

"Don't, Harry. Just kiss me."

Harry took Draco's hand in his own and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. Then he leaned in, and he knew Draco could feel his heart skip when their lips met. The kiss was soft and slow, and Harry could feel the other boy's weakness in it, but he could feel his love too. And unlike the rest of his body, Draco's love was strong, unfaltering. But…

"Draco," Harry whispered his name against his lips. "I'm not just upset about Ginny, you know. I'm worried about you too."

"About me?" Draco asked, sounding very nearly drunk. He blinked dazedly, his grey eyes going in and out of focus. "I'm here, Harry. You don't have anything to worry about."

"How can you say that? You disappeared for two weeks and have no memory of most of it, and you look like you've been to hell and back. I don't know how to help you. I don't know how to fix this. And, Draco…I can't lose you again. I _can't_."

Draco leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "Harry, if there's one thing that you can count on, it's that I'll always come back to you. Hell itself couldn't keep me away." There was a stagnant pause, filled with something thick and dark that Harry couldn't quite grasp. "I'm just—I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to fix the things I've broken."

Harry shook his head, wanting to understand what was behind the blonde's words, but it was like trying to see through a blindfold. "What are you hiding from me, Draco? Why can't you tell me what's wrong?" Because something _was_ wrong, and Harry knew it had something to do with the voice that Draco had been hearing. But why keep it a secret? Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? But Draco knew that Harry would never judge him—would never deny him help if he asked. No…there was something bigger happening here. Something worse.

"I'm not hiding anything, Harry." And he had that look on his face again—that blank, placid sort of look that Harry could never see through. "I just have to sort through a few things over the next couple months, that's all. You have nothing to worry about."

"Draco—"

"You have _nothing_ to worry about."

Harry felt like his heart was about ready to crack in two. But he pushed the feeling down and nodded timidly, because there was nothing else that he could do. He just had to trust that Draco would come to him if things…ever really turned south. He had to trust that the blonde wouldn't leave him in the dark forever. "If you say so."

The Slytherin smiled warmly. "I love you, Harry."

"I know," was all Harry could manage to reply.

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Sooooooo I may or may not have been doing an "I hate Ginny" dance when I wrote this chapter. Shh!<p>

**Please review if you were as frustrated with Harry at the end of this chapter as I was!**

****P.S. My goal is to have the next chapter posted within two weeks. It's totally gonna happen O.o Oh ye of little faith!


	13. Cinders and Rain

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language, disturbing imagery, and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Oh snaps would you look at this! An update in just over a week!

Oh! And many a thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch **who got this chapter back to me at light speed (even though it was pretty long)! Le sigh, how did I ever get so lucky?

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_And when the fires came_

_The smell of cinders and rain_

_Perfumed almost everything_

_We laughed and laughed and laughed_

_And in the golden blue_

_Crying took me to the darkest place_

_And you have set fire to my heart_

_When I run in the dark_

_To a place that's vast_

_Under a sheet of rain in my heart_

_I dream of home_

-Bat for Lashes

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>Saying that the next couple of weeks were hard would've been a gross understatement. Draco had somehow managed to convince Harry to move into Malfoy Manor with him a couple of days after he and Ginny ended things. It was the smartest move—Grimmauld Place was already filled with so much junk that it couldn't hope to hold everything from Harry's flat—but it was by no means the easiest. Draco knew that Harry was trying to adjust as best he could. The Gryffindor walked the grounds with him, smiling and laughing at all of his jokes; he sat in the library and read, humming contentedly at all the appropriate moments; he slept in Draco's bed, and kissed him sweetly before turning out the lights—he did all these things, thinking Draco couldn't see how wrong it all was. But he did. Harry was unsettled by something, and the Slytherin had a feeling he knew exactly what that something was.<p>

Draco's eyes flicked up from the book he had in front of him. "Why are you still here?" He had been sitting in the library for the past couple hours, attempting to read, but he'd been…distracted.

The demon glanced up at him, his eyes black as onyx. He was seated across the table from Draco, idly running his finger along the grooves in the wood. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Draco seethed through clenched teeth, "that you've practically been my shadow for the past three days. Harry's starting to notice."

"Harry is only noticing because you're allowing him to notice."

"Well, you're not that easy to ignore."

That seemed to please the demon. He grinned coolly and leaned over the table. "I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said with a wink.

Draco leaned back in his chair in an effort to distance himself from the demon. Crossing his arms over his chest, he put on his best Malfoy sneer. "I asked you a question, but since you've caught me on a good day I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you're just deaf rather than moronic. So, I'll ask you again: why are you here?"

The demon's grin widened. "I seem to have struck a nerve."

"Why?" Draco repeated sternly.

"A lot of reasons," the demon said, shrugging. "But mostly it's because I know you're going to be time traveling again soon, and I thought it would be fun to tag along. Hell can get hopelessly boring you understand—all it is is torture, torture, torture, all day long. It kind of loses its excitement after a millennium or so."

It was all Draco could do not to squirm beneath the scrutiny of that dark gaze. He didn't know why, but those eyes could get under his skin like nothing else could. They saw into a part of him that even Harry had never been able to reach, a dark part, where all his secrets lay hidden.

"How do you know I'm going to be traveling soon?" Draco asked, resisting the urge to glance at his father's desk where he'd stashed the Time Turner.

"Because I know you're not stupid. If you lose time every time you use that device, then you're going to want to give yourself as much time as possible to travel as many times as possible." The demon chuckled. "Would you like me to say time one more time?"

The Slytherin sneered, but didn't respond. Unfortunately enough, the demon was right. Draco had no way of knowing if the time lost after using the Time Turner was set, or if it increased or decreased the father forward he went. This trip would be the one to tell him that, and he certainly didn't want to delay it any longer than absolutely necessary…just in case the outcome was less than favorable. The only reason he'd postponed it this long was because he'd needed time to recover from his last trip.

Using the Time Turner had taken its toll on his body. He'd felt weak for days, and his skin had only just returned to its normal porcelain hue. Absentmindedly, he turned his wrists over, staring down at the two lines that now marred his once smooth skin—one from first summoning the demon that sat in front of him now, and one from a moment of weakness, both cut by the same blade. Draco moved his gaze farther down his left arm, grimacing. The Dark Mark was still as vivid as ever. He wondered how many more marks his arms would see before death finally took him.

"You're thinking about this, aren't you?"

Draco looked up, blinking dazedly at the sight of the knife sitting in front of him, its silver blade gleaming in the lamplight. It hadn't been there before, had it? Reaching out, Draco surreptitiously wound his fingers around the hilt. He stared down at it, idly running his thumb along the blade's edge. It was funny to think that this same knife had killed—

"Draco!" A hand closed firmly around his wrist, causing the blonde to jump.

He looked up to see Harry staring down at him with wide green eyes. Slowly, his hand traveled down Draco's wrist, prying the knife from his hand and setting it back down on the table.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"I—of course. I'm just," Draco gestured down at the book in front of him, "distracted is all. You know how I get when I read."

Harry grimaced. "But reading what exactly?" He peered over to read the heading of Draco's book. "Carpe Demon?" Harry raised a quizzical brow. "Cute. What's it for?"

"Just skimming through some of my father's collection." The lie tasted sour on Draco's tongue.

"Just a bit of light reading about dark magic, huh?" Harry didn't bother trying to keep the acid out of his tone.

Draco slid his fingertips under the cover and shut the book slowly. His eyes narrowed as he stared up at Harry. It was strange to see those green eyes staring back at him with such ferocity, with his brow so tightly knit and his shoulders so rigid. "What's up with you?"

"With me?" Harry practically seethed. His fists tightened and loosened again. "I come in here and find you with a knife in your hand and you ask what's wrong with _me_?"

"Harry…" Draco tried to smile but found he couldn't quite manage it. "It's fine. I was just holding it."

"Just—" Harry's lips pressed together before he could finish, and his eyes sparked like a pickaxe striking coal. He was dressed in his Quidditch robes, and the remnant smell of sweat and grass and leather clung to him like a fog. The scent filled Draco's lungs as he breathed, making his head spin. "You know what? Forget it." With a huff, Harry turned on his heel and stalked off.

"Harry!" Draco was on his feet in an instant and hurrying after the Gryffindor. He caught him just before he reached the hall. "Harry," Draco said, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him to a stop. "What's gotten into you? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Harry yanked his arm away. "Draco, have you even been living in the same house as me over the past couple days?"

Draco glared at him. "If you're upset about something there's no need to ask vague questions. Either tell me or don't." He didn't miss the slight wince on Harry's face as he spat out the frozen words, and it sent a sharp jolt of guilt down into his heart.

Harry lowered his gaze, his brow tightening and his jaw clenching as harrowing thoughts raced through his mind. "Draco," he said with some difficulty, "I can't keep staying with you if you're not going to tell me what's wrong."

"Harry, there's nothing—"

"There is!" The words seemed to tear through Harry's throat. "You can cover up a lot of the time, but I'm not stupid. I have to say your name at least five times to get your attention, you talk to yourself when you think I can't hear, you stare off into space for hours—Draco, something is going on here and I can't just keep ignoring it!"

Draco swallowed. Had he really been so obvious? "Harry…I can't tell you."

"Why?" Harry was yelling now, and his cheeks were flushed with an angry red. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Because if I tell you, you'll just go off and do something stupid!"

Harry's face went blank with shock. Then his entire body seemed to go stiff. "What do you mean, I'll do something stupid?"

Draco inwardly cursed his quick tongue.

"Draco, are you in some kind of trouble?"

The Slytherin clenched his teeth together before replying, "I'm handling it."

"So you are in trouble, then?" Harry pressed, his anger momentarily failing. "Draco, let me help you."

"Harry…" Draco inched closer to the other boy, wanting to reach out to him but not daring to make the move. "I can't."

Something in Harry's eyes seemed to break then. "It's not supposed to be like this." His voice was weak now, wavering like a leaf in the wind. "We're supposed to be able to trust each other with anything. How can you expect us to start again with something like this hanging over us? How can you…" He trailed off, his bottom lip trembling ever so slightly.

Draco's hands were cupping his face within an instant. "Hey, hey," he whispered. "Don't. Harry, I've told you—you have nothing to worry about. I'm here with you, and that's all that matters."

Harry shook his head. "But you're not. You're not here with me. You're somewhere else."

Harry's words sent a strange shiver down Draco's spine, and made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "What are you talking about?" Draco caressed Harry's skin gently; concentrating on how soft and smooth it felt beneath his fingertips.

"I—I can't do this right now." Harry took Draco's hands and pulled them down from his face. "I have practice."

"Harry," Draco breathed.

Harry trembled beneath his gaze, but the line of his jaw was set with determination. "I can't. It can't be like this, Draco. I won't do it."

"I'm trying to protect you. Harry you can trust me—"

"Can I?" Harry interrupted coldly. "We aren't who we were last summer. The way I feel about you—it still seems like just a memory. This isn't how we were. This isn't how we're supposed to be. You're not the same person I fell in love with—you're not even his shadow."

Draco's stomach went cold. He pulled his hands from Harry's and shifted his gaze to the wall, feeling the lingering sting of the words rip through him like shards of ice. The demon was leaning against the far window, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes glistening with a dark smile.

"Look," Harry said, sighing, "I'm sorry. That was…a bit over the top. I'm just frustrated is all. I'm sure we can—"

"Leave, then," Draco said sharply. He glanced back at Harry to see that his face had gone pale.

"What?"

"If you don't want to be here, then leave." Each word was sharper than the edge of a razor. "Because I'm not going to risk something happening to you by telling you. So if you can't handle that, then that's on you." It was only the years of his father's training that kept his expression honed. He didn't know why exactly he was telling Harry to leave when all he wanted was exactly the opposite. But he couldn't tell Harry now. He _couldn't_. What if the Gryffindor tried to find out a way to exchange his life for Draco's? He couldn't risk it. At least in the future, he would already be dead and sacrifice wouldn't even be an option.

Harry's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "You…you don't mean that."

"I do," Draco replied without skipping a beat.

"I—" Harry cut off, sounding choked. He turned away quickly, and without another word stalked off down the hall.

Draco watched him go, focusing everything he had on keeping his feet rooted to that spot. He didn't know why but suddenly there were white stars dancing across his vision. Watching Harry go made him feel ill, like his stomach was about to turn inside out.

"You're really bad at this game," the demon said with a laugh.

Hissing under his breath, Draco turned and walked back into the shaded library. In the next instant the demon was right at his side, his breath like a cold draft on Draco's neck. He glanced at the demon, but quickly looked away once he met those coal black eyes. "What game?" he asked, with some difficulty.

"This game you're playing with your soul. You traded it for a year didn't you? You've already run him off, and it's only been a month. Sounds to me like you're doing something wrong."

"Yeah, well," Draco veered towards his father's desk, "I'm a Slytherin—I'm always doing something wrong."

"Oh," the demon snickered. "How dark."

Ignoring him, Draco opened the side drawer and reached inside. The tip of his finger found the hidden latch that opened up into a small cushioned compartment. Gingerly, Draco withdrew the Time Turner, and he guided the chain over his neck with a nervous sigh.

"So you're really going to do it?"

Draco pulled out his calculation sheet, on which he had written down the number of turns he would have to make for every day he planned on travelling. "Does it look like I have another choice?"

"There's _always_ another choice."

"Not with you."

The demon paused thoughtfully. "You don't even know how much time will pass between now and when you come back."

"It was two weeks last time," Draco said, pinching the small knob between his thumb and forefinger and beginning to turn it. He watched as the small hourglass began to turn in a counter clockwise ring.

"You know that time lapse may not be a set amount." The demon began scratching the wood on the desk with his fingernail. It sounded oddly similar to the sound Draco heard inside his head whenever he ground his teeth together. "Whatever you think you're going to find there…you're not going to find it."

"What do you care?" Draco hissed distractedly, determined not to lose count of the rotations.

"Oh believe me, Draco, I care."

"So go on and stop me then."

"Just because you shouldn't go doesn't mean I don't want you to."

Draco glared at him. "Then. Sod. Off." His fingers released the knob, and his stomach lurched before everything went black.

The next thing he knew, he was on his hands and knees, retching on the sidewalk. Draco coughed, sputtering as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Blinking through the stars that were dancing across his vision, the Slytherin rose shakily to his feet, supporting himself by leaning against the nearest building.

Where was he?

Draco looked around at the deserted cobblestone streets, the tall red brick buildings and the smoke hazed sky, his mind growing foggy with dread. Had the Time Turner somehow transported him in space as well? Was he even in the right time? But he had counted the turns correctly—he was sure he had counted them correctly…

"Well the future certainly does look bleak, doesn't it," the demon said at his back.

Draco whirled around, which really wasn't the best idea because the sudden movement put him in grave danger of throwing up again. "So you really can follow me, then," he said with some difficulty, pressing a hand to his stomach and desperately trying to remember all the anti-nausea spells he'd learned after his first hangover.

The demon nodded, leaning against the wall as well. "Of course I can. When it comes to you, I can do almost anything."

"Except kill me." Draco grimaced.

The demon flashed a white smile. "All good things to those who wait."

Snorting, the blonde drew his wand from his robe pocket, trying not to cringe at the fact that his sleeves were now covered in mud and sopping wet. "Well, if you don't mind," he said, raising his wand, "this is a trip I'd rather make alone."

With a sounding pop, Draco was suddenly standing in front of number twelve Grimmauld Place. It wasn't raining this time, but the sky was shaded with ominous grey clouds. Draco stared up at them for a moment, feeling very small beneath their vastness. Thunder rolled through the sky, loud and booming, and the sound of it vibrated in Draco's chest.

Pushing out a breath, the blonde tore his eyes away from the sky and swept up the stairs to Harry's front door. He muttered the password, and allowed himself a small moment of relief when he heard the lock slide from its bolt. If Harry hadn't believed he would come back he would've changed the password, right?

Silently, he slid through the doorway and into the hall. "Harry?" he called, wishing his voice wasn't so hoarse from vomiting. He cleared it and shouted out another tentative, "Harry?"

He closed the door behind him, and the sound of the lock clicking into place sounded abnormally loud in the silence. Fingers worrying at the hem of his robes, Draco slowly drifted farther back into the house. He could see that the kitchen light was on under the crack in the door at the end of the hall. Maybe Harry was cooking and hadn't heard him? He started towards the door purposefully, but then something pulled him to a halt. The drawing room was directly to his left now, and the same mirage of clippings was still plastered to the wall. Only…it seemed to have grown. Bright red strings stretched several feet to connect two images, while others were stoppered, or crisscrossed jaggedly between articles. It was a map of something. Draco felt a wave of trepidation swell in his chest before it fell like a stone in his stomach. But what—

"Draco?"

The sound of Harry's voice at his back made him turn. And there Harry was, standing at the bottom of the stairs, but it wasn't the Harry that Draco knew. It wasn't even the Harry from a year ago.

"Merlin…I—I didn't think you were going to come. I thought I had dreamed up the whole thing up. I never…" He broke off, practically stumbling down the hall towards Draco.

The Slytherin recoiled despite himself. This wasn't—this _couldn't_—be Harry. Harry's skin wasn't dull and pallid like parchment. Harry's eyes weren't lifeless and glazed over like he'd spent the last five years in Azkaban with Dementors sucking out all the happiness in his soul. And Harry certainly wasn't this thin. The other boy had always been slight, but now he downright gaunt. Saying he weighed one hundred thirty pounds would've been a generous estimate.

"Draco." Harry was right upon him now, gazing at him with wide frightened eyes that had once been such an electrifying shade of green. His hands rose, and Draco's skin trembled as he felt the heat of the Gryffindor brush up against him. Pain was etched in Harry's features, laced with something deeper that Draco wasn't sure he wanted to recognize. It was anger and guilt, and neither at the same time. "May I…" Harry swallowed against his trembling voice. "May I kiss you?"

"I—"

But Harry didn't wait for him to finish his reply.

Within a moment Harry's lips were pressed against his own. He tasted bitter, like old coffee. Or maybe it was something else. Draco didn't really know. What he did know was that it felt wrong—it felt _dead_. Draco pulled back, effectively breaking the kiss and desperately trying to calm the stuttering beats of his heart.

"Harry, I don't really have much time," the blonde said quickly, imploring Harry to understand.

"Oh. Right." If it was possible, Harry's eyes looked even more hazed than before. "Right, I'm sorry. I—come upstairs with me? I'll show you what I've found."

Draco nodded curtly. "Lead the way." He gestured towards the stairwell.

Harry blew out a shaky breath, and Draco could smell the sharp tang of Firewhiskey on it. Turning, Harry made his way towards the stairs, and the blonde followed at his heels.

"What you've found—do you think it could work?" Draco asked, unable to keep the question down. "Do you think that it might get rid of the demon?"

Harry craned his neck to smile back at him. "I don't know. You'll have to tell me."

Draco grimaced, not knowing what to make of Harry's response to his question. Normally he would've snapped out a cool reply, but as it was, he followed Harry up to the second floor without another word.

Harry ushered him into a small study that Draco was sure he'd never seen before. It was horribly lit, the only light coming from two waning candles mounted on the wall. The furniture in the room, too, was less than desirable. There was a small desk in the corner that looked to be suffering from a particularly bad case of wood rot, and the matching chair didn't seem to be in any better shape. The rest of the room was so littered with books and rolls of parchment that it was impossible to observe, let alone navigate through. But Harry seemed to have a pathway to the desk memorized, though they had to do a couple of strange maneuvers to get there.

"Sorry for the mess," Harry said, chuckling. "Without you around to yell at me about my cleaning habits, I guess I really let the place go."

"I—" Draco paused, his brow furrowing. He gave Harry a hard discerning look. "We lived here?"

Harry looked at him as if he'd just asked if he enjoyed fondling the backside of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. "Of course we lived here." Harry shook his head and began rummaging through the papers on the desk. "Where else would we live? Malfoy Manor?"

"It's a perfectly acceptable place to live."

"For a ghost maybe," Harry replied shortly before pulling out one of the papers from the stack he'd been filing through. He held it gingerly, his eyes squinting as they scanned over the words. It was strange to see how common those lines looked on Harry's face. How frequently had he cooped himself up in this study, hovering over books with his brows pulled tight? It must've been quite often, Draco thought, to have created such lines.

"What happened to you?" Draco whispered, more to himself than anything else.

Harry blinked, glancing up from the paper to stare up at Draco. The blonde flushed, realizing he'd spoken louder than he had intended. "You died," Harry said, and Draco felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. "What did you think would happen?"

Draco pressed his lips together.

"Here," Harry said with a sigh, handing Draco the paper. "This is the best thing I've been able to find."

Draco took the paper gingerly, and pulled his gaze away from Harry's to stare down at it. The top half of the page was a picture of a man dressed in a long flowing robe, standing in the middle of a barren desert. To the man's left, there stood a warped human-like creature with black wings and clawed fingers, pointing down to fields of green. There was an inscription at the bottom, but Draco couldn't read it. It was in Latin. In fact, all of the writing below was in Latin as well.

"It says," Harry began, as if reading Draco's very thoughts, "All these things will I give to thee, if thou wilt bow down and worship me."

"Oh." Draco looked over the picture once more, frowning. "Well…that desert does look rather wretched. The bloke's lucky he's getting off with just bowing."

"It's Satan's temptation of Christ," Harry remarked, as if that should mean something to the blonde.

Draco looked up at him, his eyebrow quirking. "I'm guessing he didn't bow then?"

Harry looked away, his cheeks reddening. "No."

Humming, Draco glanced back down at the picture. "Well, I hope he enjoyed his life in that miserable desert then, though I don't see how he could." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "I'll bet he had a wicked tan though. Chicks love tan guys—or so I'm told—so at least he had that going for him. That could make it worthwhile I suppose, you know, if—"

"Draco," Harry interrupted, so sternly that the blonde's eyes were pulled up once more.

"Hm?"

"He died."

"Oh." Draco's grip on the paper tightened. "So no hot desert babes for our fashion inept hero then?"

Harry's lips pursed. "No. No hot desert babes."

There was a long moment of silence, where neither of them looked at each other, and neither even pretended they wanted to.

"So, what does it say then?" Draco said, his voice breaking through the quiet air like the edge of a blade. "The rest of it, I mean."

"It says that a demon can be summoned with a very special, very powerful kind of dark magic."

"Great. Check that off the list of things I already knew."

Scowling, Harry continued, "It also says that after a deal is made with one, it cannot be unmade."

The air seemed to thicken with a foreboding sort of darkness. Draco shifted on his feet, and lowered his hands. "That can't be—there has to be a way to stop this thing."

"There is."

Draco blew out an exasperated breath. "Merlin, Harry, you could've started off with that you know. Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?"

"Draco," Harry said slowly, running a hand through his dark matted hair. "The only way a deal can be changed is if another deal is made." He paused for a moment to let the words sink in.

"I…" The paper slipped from Draco's hands and fluttered silently to the ground. He knew that look in Harry's eyes—knew it like he knew the shade of his mother's lipstick, or the feeling of a snitch in his hand. "Harry…_you can't_."

Harry looked away then, absently running his hand along the edge of the desk. "I didn't say that I was going to do anything."

"Harry." Draco grabbed Harry's arm and pulled the other boy close. His skin felt cold and clammy beneath his fingers. "_You can't_."

"It feels like you've been here longer than before," Harry said with a small smile.

"Harry, I'm not going to let you." Draco's grip tightened.

Harry jerked his arm out of Draco's grasp. "Stop! I'm not going to let you tell me what I can and cannot do!" Anger shot through Harry's eyes like a bolt of lightning. "You're _dead_ here, remember? And guess what? That's not going to change! Saving you in the past isn't going to bring you back for me! So what does it even matter?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Draco hissed between bared teeth. "Of course it matters! Why do you think I never told you about it? Why do you think I'm here now? This is exactly what I was trying to avoid!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to let you die for me!"

"Well it's not your decision to make!"

Draco saw red. His blood was boiling under his skin and he could feel his magic surging, begging to be released. He stepped in closer to the other boy—close enough that he could see the muscles twitching in Harry's brow. "You'll never find the spell."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I don't know. I can be pretty resourceful."

"Harry…"

Something in Harry seemed to soften then, all the ice in his heart melting under the heat of Draco's breath. "Draco," Harry whispered, raising his hand and brushing the backs of his fingers against Draco's cheek. "Why can't you understand this? I love you. And if there's a way I can fix this for you—"

"—By sacrificing yourself?"

Harry smiled tenderly. "By doing the same thing for you that you once did for me."

Shaking his head, Draco turned his gaze to the desk, distractedly scanning its surface until his eyes caught hold of a flash of silver. The Slytherin leaned forward, reaching over the stack of books to grab the hilt of his old knife. He stared at it for a long moment, and his cheek tingled from the loss of Harry's touch.

"Don't," Harry said, taking the knife from Draco's hand and setting it back down on the desk. Draco didn't miss how his fingers trembled as they left the blade.

"What is it?"

Harry's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Draco glanced back down at the knife, a question burning in the back of his throat that he didn't dare ask. "You're going to have to give me more time."

"How much time?" Harry asked softly.

"Two more years?"

"Draco—"

"Harry." Draco pressed his eyes shut, and pulled in a deep breath. "You'll find something else."

"And if I don't?"

"And if you don't, then you at least deserve to give yourself time to make sure this is the right decision. Give me two years, Harry."

Harry sighed, and Draco smelled the Firewhiskey again. "Two years is a long time, Draco."

"In that big of a hurry to die, are you?"

Harry's lips quirked in a way that Draco definitely didn't like. Bloody hell, things couldn't be that bad, could they? But then again, wasn't this exactly where he'd been just a couple months ago—one year after he'd made Harry forget? Hadn't he just wanted it to be over no matter what the cost?

"Harry, look, we can—whoa!" Draco jumped back as a droplet of cold water hit the tip of his nose. He gazed up accusingly at the ceiling, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. Strange…there weren't any pipes overhead, so what in world—

"Draco?" The sound of Harry's voice drew him back. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm—" Draco jerked as another droplet fell and grazed the back of his neck, "—alright." He huffed indignantly. "You just have a bloody leak in your ceiling is all."

Harry looked up, his mouth pulled down in confusion. "We're beneath my bedroom."

"The leak is beside the point. I'm coming back in two years and you have to promise me that you'll be here. You have to promise me that you won't do anything stupid." The area just behind Harry's right shoulder flickered strangely, flashing like one of Colin Creevy's cameras before fading back to normal. Draco blinked and tried to ignore it.

"Saving your life isn't stupid."

"Yes it is." But there it was again, on Draco's left this time. It was an image of some sort. A street maybe? "There _has_ to be another way."

Harry's gaze turned hard. "You can't just ignore the fact that there might not be another way!"

"Then fine! It's done and I'm dead! It was my own choice!"

"But what if it wasn't? What if it wasn't your choice?"

Just then, pain erupted in Draco's head. He stumbled forward, feeling as if he had just been hit by a bludger. Harry's arms extended to catch him, but Draco just kept falling until the ground rose up to meet him. It curled up around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of darkness, but he was still falling. Deeper and deeper. Darker and darker.

He hit the ground with a sounding thud, his palms raking against the pavement and his skin tearing. Draco blinked dazedly and tried to swallow against the bile that had surged up his throat. Rain pounded into his back, sinking in through his robes to bite at his flesh with fangs of ice.

"Oh good."

The hackles on the back of Draco's neck rose in an instant. He turned his head slowly, every muscle in his body trembling.

Ginny tossed him a scathing smile before she raised her wand. "I've finally found you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>DRAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! And angst...loads of angst...and much more angst to come let me tell you! This story is in great need of a fluff chapter methinks *nods*<p>

**People who love angst always review! :)**


	14. Shattered

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG for language, disturbing imagery, and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Hey! Another semi-fast update! Yaaaaaaay! By the way, I just wanted to thank everyone once again for all the support. Much love!

P.S. You better start saying your goodbyes to our dear ole Harry POV's! Draco may be taking over soon...he always was very selfish *nods*

As usual, I grovel at the feet of **ThexBlairxWitch **who was super fast yet again-and caught some pretty horrendous errors as well! I swear...if y'all read the original versions of these chapters you would probably cringe.

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_And finding answers_

_Is forgetting all of the questions we called home_

_Passing the graves of the unknown_

_As reason clouds my eyes with splendor fading_

_Illusions of the sunlight_

_And the reflection of a lie will keep me waiting_

_With love gone for so long_

_And this day's ending is the proof of time killing all the faith I know_

_Knowing that faith is all I hold_

-Trading Yesterday

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

><p>Harry cursed as he pulled out of his dive, his right hand gripping his broom more tightly than usual out of frustration that the Snitch had once again evaded his grasp. Sighing, he returned to his normal perch, hovering above his other teammates as they ran their own drills.<p>

"Potter!" his coach called from below. "Ground! Now!"

Heart sinking, Harry urged his broom to drop. His feet hit the grass with a muffled thud. Slowly he swung his leg over the handle and trudged towards the coach, broom dragging behind him and head hung low.

The coach—an intimidatingly large man, who had played beater for Puddlemere for nearly nine years before an injury took him out of the game—didn't wait until Harry was close enough that the other team members wouldn't hear what he had to say. "What the hell do you think you're pulling out there, Potter?" he yelled, his neck flushing with an angry red. "Do tell me where your head is, because it's certainly not here!"

"Sorry, coach," Harry mumbled, slowing to a stop and keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. He didn't want to deal with this right now. "I'm just distracted today."

"You've been distracted for _weeks_. We have a scrimmage coming up just three Saturdays from now for Merlin's sake! Now do you have what it takes to play Seeker for Puddlemere or don't you?"

Harry's head jerked up. "I—what?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to steady his labored breaths. "Potter, look, you were great last season—really you were—but there's a lot of pressure from our sponsors that we get the Cup this year. This team can't afford any weak links. It can't afford any _distractions_. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" He looked at Harry with piercing blue eyes.

The Seeker nodded grimly, his nerves trembling like a leaf in the wind. "I think so, sir."

"So…no more distractions then?"

"No, sir." Harry's grip on his broom tightened to the point where he could feel his knuckles go white. "No more distractions."

Two hours later saw Harry showered, dressed, and heading out of the locker room and into the stadium hall. He'd been running what he was going to say to Draco over and over again in his head. Or, at least, he'd been trying to. Because he certainly needed to say _something_. The past few weeks had taken more of a toll on Harry than he had thought, and this morning he hadn't been able to hold back the words anymore. He admitted that things had gotten out of hand—that he had let his temper get away from him—but even so, something had to be done. They couldn't go on like this—living this half sort of life littered with secrets. Harry had had dealt with enough secrets for one lifetime. That…and Draco seemed to be getting worse.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped, nearly tripping over himself as he spun on his heel to face—"Hermione?"

Hermione smiled tentatively as she made her way towards him, her heels clacking on the linoleum floor and her hair bouncing with each step. "Hello, Harry. I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

"Er," Harry shifted uncomfortably as she finally came to a stop in front of him. "No, of course not. I just got out of practice, and was about to head—er—home." Since when had he started considering Malfoy Manor home? "Is everything alright? Is Ron—"

"Ron's fine," Hermione interrupted impatiently. "I just needed to talk to you. Why haven't you answered any of my letters?"

"I've been…busy," Harry replied distractedly. He was trying not to look worried, but it was a particularly difficult task when Hermione was wringing her hands like she was doing now. Hermione and hand wringing was never a good combination.

"Well are you busy now? We need to talk."

Harry frowned and checked his watch. He supposed his conversation with Draco could spare another hour. "I've got time. There's a bench just outside if you want to—"

But Hermione was already marching towards the exit.

"Alright then." Harry took off after her, ignoring the protest of his sore muscles.

The sun, now high in the sky, glared down at them, but its light offered little warmth. A fall chill had already settled in the air, and a brisk wind was whipping unforgivingly through the surrounding trees and biting at Harry's skin through his robes. Together he and Hermione made their way over to a metal bench, tucked against the stadium wall and nestled between the trunks of two trees. The silence between them was tense, and filled with a dread that Harry didn't dare name. They sat farther apart than usual, the space between them measured by more than just inches.

"Harry," Hermione started slowly, "I've been wanting to talk to you about your memories. More specifically, I've been wanting to talk to you about how you got them back."

"Did Ron not tell you?"

"He told me that Draco did a spell." She looked at him searchingly, as if there was something more to the explanation that she couldn't quite perceive.

Harry felt himself recoil from the accusation in her eyes. "That about sums it up, yeah."

"But…that's impossible," she whispered, half to herself. "Obliviation spells cannot be reversed, Harry."

"Ron said the same thing." Harry's fingers curled into the fabric of his robes. "You don't think he made sure? You don't think he didn't ask me something that Draco couldn't have known?"

"You don't understand. This _can't_ be true"

"Why not?"

"Because, if it is, then we're not just talking about an intricate spell here, Harry, we're talking about a kind of magic that's so dark that I think even Voldemort would've hesitated to dabble in it."

Her words hit Harry like a slap across the face. The night Draco had cast the spell rushed back to him in an instant—the odd chill in the air, the pain that had scorched through his veins like white fire, and memories being slammed back into his mind as his blood pounded in his ears. He remembered the magic and how it had cracked through the air, leaving his mouth dry with the discordant aftertaste of copper. With everything else that had happened after, Harry hadn't even spared one thought for the spell that had been used. How had he not thought about it before?

"Harry," Hermione said, pulling him from his reverie. "Has he seemed…different to you?

"I—well, yes." The responding look on Hermione's face had Harry's pulse racing. He leaned in towards her, grabbing her hands with his own. "Hermione, do you know something? Do you know what's wrong with him?"

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said, her brows pulling together. "I mean—well—I may have an idea, but…"

"But what?" Harry pushed.

"Harry…there's a reason wizards never use magic like this, even the dark ones." Her voice dropped to a low wavering note. "There are a wide variety of effects, but they're always bad. And…Harry, we have to get him to St. Mungo's, and most likely you too. This spell—"

"St. Mungo's?" Harry felt his chest tighten against his lungs. "Hermione, we can't. He'll never go. And what would we even say? If we told them the truth they wouldn't try to help him, they'd arrest him."

The wind seemed to be blowing harder now. The leaves shook and rattled, falling all around them in waves of red and brown. One caught in Hermione's hair, but she didn't pull her hands from Harry's to brush it out.

"Harry, if you don't do something about this…he's going to die."

"Die?" Harry could barely choke out the word. His mind seemed to be going through the strangest state where it was running on overdrive while simultaneously shutting down. "Hermione, that's—that's absurd. He may not be completely himself, but I'm sure it's just psychosomatic or something. He hears a voice for Merlin's sake—it's not all that uncommon. It can't be that bad. It can't be…" And yet, how many marks did Draco's wrists now hold? How many times had he left the house wondering if he would be visited by another unwelcome vision? Draco had all but said this morning that he was in some kind of trouble, but surely his life wasn't at risk. Surely he would never attempt to perform a spell that dangerous.

Even though he already had once before.

"He hears a voice?" Hermione asked, but she sounded very far away.

Harry was on his feet in an instant. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I've got to go." He pushed his hand into his pocket, drawing out his wand.

"Wait!" Hermione's hand closed around his arm. Suddenly she was standing next to him, her eyes shining fervently. "Take me with you."

Harry barely gave the request a moment's thought before he was waving his wand and apparating them to Malfoy Manor.

The pair of them landed in the drawing room. Harry stumbled forward, but sheer desperation steadied his legs and within a blink he was bolting towards the door.

"Harry!" Hermione called from somewhere behind him, but Harry was already in the hall, running towards the library.

It was fine. Everything was fine. He was overreacting. But even still he had to see Draco's face, just to know. Just to be sure.

Heart pounding, Harry rounded the corner of the library. "Draco?" His voice was swallowed by the empty room. He marched towards the table Draco had been reading at this morning, only to find it pointedly barren save for the copy of _Carpe Demon_ that still lay untouched on its surface.

No note.

"Binky!" Harry turned on his heel and sped back out into the corridor, where he very nearly collided with Hermione.

"Is he here?" Hermione panted.

"He didn't say he was going out. Binky!"

A small pop announced Binky's arrival. "Yes, Master Harry, sir? Is you needing something, sir?"

Harry looked down at the small elf, and tried to keep his voice calm as he asked, "Where's Draco?"

"Oh," Binky said in a small voice, one of her long ears twitching nervously. "Master Draco has left, sir."

Harry felt like someone had just shoved a pound of gillyweed down his throat.

"Did he say where he was going, Binky?" Hermione asked softly.

"No, ma'am, Master Draco didn't say. He never does."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Harry, you have to calm down," Hermione said, handing him a cup of tea. They were back in her flat now, as that seemed like the best place to go after they'd left Malfoy Manor. Ron was there too, sitting on the couch and watching Harry pace back and forth across their living room like a madman.

"She's right, you know," the redhead said gently. "We don't actually know if he's run off again. He could just be out for a stroll or something." Harry had told them about Draco's two week disappearance, which they had received with varying degrees of concern. Ron, predictably, had deemed it a desperate cry for attention or some other such nonsense. Hermione, though, had taken it rather differently. Already she had piled up a mountain of books, thoroughly scanning the contents of each—for what, Harry didn't know.

"He's gone," Harry said, taking the tea and immediately setting it down on the coffee table. "You don't know him. He would've said if he had plans to go out."

Ron waved him off. "One doesn't always plan to go out on a stroll, Harry."

"He plans _everything_," Harry returned waspishly.

"Yes, well, didn't you say that you two had a row this morning?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Maybe he didn't tell you where he was going because he was upset. People do that."

"Ron, you don't—"

"Stop it, the both of you!" Hermione snapped, slamming her own cup down on the table. The two boys stared at her, wide eyed. "We can't do anything if you two are just going to be bickering the entire time."

"But, Hermione—"

"Ron." Hermione's glare held a silent warning.

The redhead fell against the back of the sofa, his hands raised in defeat.

"And, Harry," Hermione said, her gaze shifting up to meet his. "Ron may be right. Malfoy could just be off somewhere, perfectly fine, and perfectly safe. You should go back to the manor and wait for him."

"Wait for him?" Harry couldn't keep the astonished betrayal out of his voice. "But, Hermione—"

"If he's not back by morning, then we'll plan a course of action. Until then I'll look up everything I can on memory magic, and you should go through his library and do the same."

Harry stared down at her, shaken, as if the floor was shifting beneath his feet. His hands fisted at his sides. "Hermione, I can't just sit around and do _nothing_ when I know he's gone missing."

"Harry," Hermione said, more gently this time. "You can't possibly know that."

"Yeah, well, I do." And Harry didn't know how he knew, but he did. There was just this feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach that was twisted and knotted and burning. It was the same feeling he'd had when Draco had gone missing the first time. "Please," Harry whispered. "You have to help me."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"So you were having visions and dreams about Malfoy even before he did this memory spell, right?" Hermione asked quizzically, her quill flying over a roll of parchment as she spoke. "I mean, last summer, you told Ron and I that you were seeing things about him in your dreams, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied distractedly. He knew she already knew the answer, and that she was just double-checking for her notes so he didn't bother elaborating. He was too busy reading over his own notes to elaborate anyway—that and trying to do something with his hands other than break quills. Six had already fallen victim to his nerves, and were now scattered in pieces all around the table.

It had been just under a week since he'd last seen the Slytherin, and frankly, Harry was already at his wits end with worry. He, Ron, and Hermione were currently at Malfoy Manor, reading every bit of information they could find on memory altering magic. For hours on end Harry had been staring down at the book in front of him, but he hadn't been able to ingest any of it. All he could seem to think about was the image of Draco appearing in his entryway weeks ago; thin, filthy, and so weak he could barely even stand. What could he have possibly done that would've taken such a toll on his body? Exactly what sort of danger was he in that he had to disappear and not tell anyone where he was going? Even Harry. _Especially_ Harry.

_Because if I tell you, you'll just go off and do something stupid!_

Insulting though the statement may have been, Harry knew exactly what Draco had meant by it.

_Harry, if you don't do something about this…he's going to die._

The blonde's life was in jeopardy somehow, of that much Harry was now sure. And he was worried that if Harry knew…that he would try to save Draco by any means necessary, even if that meant risking his own life.

_But why would he think that was stupid?_ Harry's brow furrowed at the thought. _Because he's a bloody self-loathing hypocrite, that's why_. Snorting, the Gryffindor slammed his book shut.

Hermione and Ron both started, their heads snapping up to see what had caused the interruption.

"Sorry," Harry grumbled, pushing his chair back from the table. "But I have to go."

"What?" Ron pushed back his chair as well. "Where do you need to go?"

"I can't sit here and read anymore." He pushed himself up to his feet. "I have to at least try and go look for him."

The corners of Hermione's mouth pulled down miserably. "Where would you check that we haven't already looked?"

"I don't know…but he has to be somewhere."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Hello, what—oh, Potter!" Pansy blinked at him from behind her partially open door. "It's you."

"Hi, Pansy," Harry said meekly, struggling not to fiddle with his robes. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

"Um, no." She gave him a cold calculating look, and her mouth quirked as she opened the door a little wider. "Why're you here?" There was no hint of warmth in her tone, but Harry was thankful enough for the curiosity. He had half expected her to just slam the door in his face.

"It's about Draco."

That got the door open a little wider. For a moment her steely expression faltered with worry. "Is he alright?"

"I was hoping you might know." Harry bit his lip to keep from frowning. "He's gone missing."

Pansy's gaze dropped. "Has he?" With an annoyed sort of huff, the Slytherin turned on her heel and began walking down the hallway. "Come in, Potter."

Hesitantly Harry slipped through the door and closed it behind him. Pansy lived in a fairly small flat in southern London, and as such, he didn't have to follow her far to reach the dining room. She was already seated at the table there, her foot swinging idly back and forth as she stared at him with a mixture of impatience and annoyance.

"Sit," she said, and it was more of an order than a request.

Biting down his temper, Harry pulled out a chair and sat.

"So," her foot stopped swinging, "it's true then, what I've heard about the two of you?"

"That depends on what you've heard," Harry replied cautiously.

"I heard that you're his new fuck buddy," she said with a tantalizing grin.

Harry's face heated and his tongue froze helplessly in his mouth.

Pansy smirked and propped her elbow up on the table so that she could rest her chin in her hand. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around her shoulders. "It is true then. Interesting. I would never have thought someone like him would fall for someone like you."

Harry couldn't quite manage to look as indignant as he felt, but he held her gaze firmly, refusing to let her believe he was so easily unraveled.

"So he's gone missing again, has he?" Her fingers slid up her cheek and into her hair. "How long has he been gone?"

"About a week. And what do you mean _again_?"

Pansy snorted. "I mean that I lived with him for a year, and of those twelve months he was gone for at least two. No note. No owl. Nothing." She looked at him then, her dark eyes shining. "It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the planet. And then, one day, he would just be there again, as if he had never left in the first place."

"But," Harry struggled to get his brain to cooperate with his mouth. "…Didn't you ever find out where he went?"

"No," Pansy replied curtly. "He never told me."

"And you never thought to _ask_ him?"

Her dark eyes flashed with anger. Then, like a clap of thunder, her fist slammed down on the table. "Don't you dare patronize me, Potter! You're not the only one in this room who loves him!"

That was enough to render Harry silent. He pressed his lips together, red flooding his cheeks once more.

"Don't act so surprised," Pansy snapped. "It's unbecoming. I'm sure you knew."

"I—well—it's just…you left him at St. Mungo's…and I thought—"

"I left him at St. Mungo's because I thought I was doing what was best for him! He's not well. Can't you see that?"

"I know he's been dabbling in some dark magic…"

Pansy shook her head, her brows pulling together. "No." She leaned back in her chair slowly, and it wasn't until then that Harry noticed that they had both been leaning forward. "I mean he's made a few questionable visits to Knockturn Alley, but this isn't just the workings of dark magic. I would know. Dark magic is just the thing that's making it worse."

Knockturn Alley? What would Draco have needed to go there for? "I guess I'll have to go check Knockturn Alley then, and see if anybody has seen him there." Harry rose to his feet abruptly, more than thankful to have an excuse to leave. "Thank you for talking with me, Pansy. Really." He nodded to emphasize that he really meant what he said. And he did. But that certainly didn't mean he'd enjoyed it. If anything, the Slytherin had only given him more cause to worry.

"Don't be an idiot. No one will talk to you there," Pansy said, heavy lashes veiling whatever expression was hidden in her sidelong look.

"Maybe, but I have to at least try."

Heart dropping, Harry turned to leave when Pansy's voice stopped him.

"You're not going to find him, you know."

Harry turned back, slowly. "How do you know that?"

Pansy smiled then, and it was a smile that could curdle milk. "He's the son of a Death Eater, Potter. If he doesn't want you to find him, you won't. That's why I never bothered looking for him, and that's why I never bothered asking where he went after he came back. Chances are, you don't want to know." She leaned over the table, her fingers intertwining under her chin. "When you find something you like, you shouldn't look too closely at it—you'll always find a flaw."

Harry felt something sweep through his veins, thick and poisonous, and it made his head spin. All he knew in that moment was that he really didn't want to be here anymore. "Yeah, well, I don't really mind flaws."

"You'll mind this one."

Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat, and without another word he hurried off down the hall, not looking back.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Knockturn Alley had been a dead end. Pansy had been right—no one would talk to him there. Most of the people who saw him either fled, or locked themselves inside their shops, probably thinking that Harry had come to curse them, or drag them off to Azkaban, or Merlin knows what else. And of the few who _did_ actually talk to him, none of them were willing to divulge any useful information. The only thing he had found out is that Draco had been seen at Borgin & Burkes. No one would say when. The information could've been months old for all Harry knew.

Pointless.

Useless.

How long ago had that been now? One week? Maybe two? It didn't really matter. Draco wasn't here, and Hermione had yet to find any logical explanation as to how Harry's memories had been returned to him. Hours upon hours she had spent, crunching numbers, her quill scratching down equations, but the magic had never added up. It lacked balance, she said.

But…it didn't really matter.

He sat now in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, one of his legs slung over the arm as he stared broodingly down into the dying fire that was currently struggling to light the fireplace. His hand was laden with a half-full bottle of Firewhiskey that he had been sipping from for most of the evening. Intoxication seemed to be the only salve for his wounded mind—it was the only thing that could hinder the incessant churning of thoughts and worries, and allow him a moment to just be still. Harry pushed the mouth of the bottle against his lips once more, barely even registering the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear Kreacher's rumbling voice, but his words were lost in the crackle of the fire.

What was he supposed to do? Why had Draco refused to let him help? Did the blonde really expect him to just sit here and wait like some obedient dog? No explanation? No word? No hope to speak of? This wasn't how love was supposed to work. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice slid over him like a warm breeze. He took a deep breath in through his nose and pushed it back out. "Have you found anything?"

"No," Hermione replied softly, her footsteps becoming muffled as she stepped onto the large rug. She stopped just behind the back of his chair. "But, Harry…you're starting to worry us. You've been cooped up in here for over a week."

"So?"

"So, it's _unhealthy_. And—" The bottle of Firewhiskey was suddenly pulled from Harry's hand. "How much of this have you had?"

Harry shrugged.

"Have you even eaten today?"

Harry pretended to think about it for a moment. "Don't really remember."

"Harry!" Hermione stormed around the front of the chair, effectively blocking his view of the fire. Harry stared down at the hemline of her skirt, refusing to lift his head to meet her gaze. "You're being ridiculous! You have a Quidditch game tomorrow, don't you?"

Harry snorted, his lips pulling into a frown. "I'll catch the Snitch."

"Maybe! That is, if you're sober enough to climb onto your broom!"

"Don't be so melodramatic, Hermione," Harry hissed. He grabbed for the Firewhiskey, but Hermione jerked it away before he could get a good grip.

"You're the one who's being melodramatic here," she snapped in return, her voice much louder now than it had been just a short minute ago. "Here, I brought you something." Angrily, she jabbed her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small grey stone, throwing it at him. It landed on Harry's lap with a muffled thump.

Harry picked it up and held it in his palm, studying it closely. It was small—no larger than an egg—and it felt overly cool as it sat in his hand. "What is it?"

"It's a memorandum charm," the brunette replied tersely. "It's meant to light up when communicating a specific message. The color it turns will signify who sent the message. I thought it would be helpful."

Harry's fingers closed around the stone. "Helpful for what?"

"For finding Malfoy."

The Gryffindor's head jerked up. Hermione was staring back down at him, her brown eyes glistening. She looked tired—there were deep bags underneath her eyes and her hair was tied back in a messy bun. He had seen her like this before, of course, but only in the few weeks before their finals at Hogwarts when she wouldn't sleep, eat, or breathe anywhere outside of the library. A sharp pang of guilt rushed through Harry's heart.

"I—I didn't know you were still looking."

Hermione's anger seemed to cave in an instant. "Of course we're still looking. He's important to you, so that means he's important to us too."

Harry nodded vaguely, his eye dropping back down to the stone. "So how does it work?"

"Well," she said, kneeling down in front of him, "it's very simple really. If someone finds him, or some other useful bit of information, they'll activate their stone with the spell _Invenito_, and that will activate all the other stones connected to it. It will light up red if it's from you, green from me, blue from Ron, yellow from Ginny, purple from—"

"Ginny?" Harry felt his entire body go taut. "She's helping too?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened as she struggled to reply, "I—well—yes she is. She has such good ties with the tracking team at the Ministry that I thought—"

"You shouldn't have asked her, Hermione."

"She could've said no if she wanted to."

"You still shouldn't have asked."

Hermione sighed, but didn't argue with him any further. Slowly, she pushed herself back to her feet. "I'm sorry, but it can't really be helped now. She does still care about you, you know."

Harry pressed his lips together, because there wasn't anything he could possibly say to ease his conscience.

"Look," Hermione continued somberly. "Just promise me that you'll come by our place after the game tomorrow? Or at least grab a meal with us? We miss you."

"Yeah…alright."

"Good." She reached out, her fingertips brushing his bangs off to the side. "You shouldn't give up, Harry. If we can find five Horcruxes, we can find Malfoy."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

As it turned out, Malfoy was just as elusive as the Horcruxes had been. Perhaps more so…if that was even possible.

Over seven long weeks had passed since Draco's disappearance, and still there had been no word. As of right now, he and Hermione were holed up in the second floor study at Grimmauld Place, surrounded by several stacks of books that were piled higher than Harry cared to measure. Candles lined the far ends of the table, wax overflowing from the candelabras to pool on the table. Harry stuck his fingers in one of the pools, oddly liking the way the wax burned his skin.

"Harry!" Hermione smacked his hand away. "Stop fooling around."

Harry shook his hand, pouting and grumbling under his breath, but he returned his gaze to his book nevertheless. He was reading _Carpe Demon_ for what felt like the billionth time. It seemed like a bunch of nonsensical gibberish filled with all sorts of dark lore about demons and demon possession, but Harry kept to it anyway. He didn't know why—maybe because it was the last tie he had to the Slytherin. Draco had been reading this book for a reason, hadn't he?

Harry twirled the stone between his fingers idly, his eyes grazing over a random paragraph on the page.

_And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads, the name of blasphemy. And they worshiped the dragon, which gave power unto the beast—they worshiped the beast saying, "Who is like the beast?" The beast, which I just saw, had the body of a leopard, but had feet of a bear and the mouth was the mouth of a lion. The dragon gave his power unto the beast, and his seat and great authority._

Harry snorted. Gibberish. Most of it was taken directly from the bible: Revelations chapter thirteen, which was odd enough in itself. A demon book containing the word of God? Seemed rather contradictory.

_And then the dragon spoke saying, "Whosoever may come to my door with the blood of his kindred, and the mind of a serpent, and a heart consumed by a lion shall be with me and I with them, and I will come into them and take what is mine." _

On and on it went for pages and pages, chapters and chapters. What it all meant was beyond Harry. Even Hermione was perplexed by its contents. Or, at least, she was uncertain that the words even had any real meaning to begin with.

"Harry!"

Hermione said his name so suddenly and so forcefully that Harry jumped, startled.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining. "I think I found something."

Harry practically leapt out of his seat to lean over the table. "What? What did you find?" He cocked his head, straining to read the words Hermione was pointing at.

The brunette turned the book so that he could have a better look. "Look, see what it says here?" She ran her finger along one of the lines. "About blood magic and reversal spells? It seems to be implying that—"

But a bright flash of light cut her off. Harry's arm whipped up to cover his eyes, the stone clattering to the table. The light died almost as quickly as it had come. Slowly, Harry's arm dropped, and his eyes were drawn to where the stone lay. It was glowing yellow.

"Harry, I think—"

"—Ginny's found him."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Okay! So first off, I swear this is the last angstfaceboring Harry chapter that I'll post...I just needed to-erm-set everything up *ahem* yes. Anyway, prepare yourself for some fluff in the next chapter!

Have you figured out how it's going to end yet? :)

**OMG BATMAN COMES OUT TONIGHT! Oh and yes...a review would be greatly appreciated! (...by Batman!)**


	15. Fallout

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language, and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: So apparently moving takes a lot more out of you than I thought! Nevertheless, here is another chapter! Sorry you had to wait so long for it!

So sadly this chapter hasn't been beta'd yet :( My beta is pretty busy herself, so now you get to see first hand just how much she always improves my chapters!

* * *

><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_The days turn to hours_

_And it's just another moment before they go_

_I'm scared to say goodbye_

_'Cause what's after that, I don't know_

_And as the years fly past us_

_If we lose track or lose the fight_

_I will search forever to find a way back to tonight_

_Where it's just you and me_

_And honestly, that's all I'll ever need_

_I don't wanna fall out, but we're all out of time_

_In one day no way you'll be mine_

_Tonight's the countdown till the day we're not around_

_And you're gone and we're on with our lives_

-Sam Tsui

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

><p>Draco leapt to his feet only to stumble and fall heavily back against the building behind him. He stared at Ginny with wide frightened eyes, struggling to pull air into his lungs.<p>

"Don't move," she said in a low threatening voice, her wand still pointed at his chest.

Draco very much doubted he could've moved even if he wanted to. Rain was falling in heavy sheets, and it seemed determined to push him back to the ground. He felt like he was going to be sick. He watched in silence as Ginny pushed her free hand into her pocket and pulled something out. It was small and round, but that was all Draco could see. She held it up to her mouth and whispered something that the blonde couldn't hear over the hiss of the falling rain.

What was Ginny doing here anyway? And where exactly was here?

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Ginny yelled suddenly, shoving whatever she'd been holding back into her pocket. She took three intimidating steps towards him. "Where have you been?"

Draco pressed harder back against the wall, and he could feel the brick digging into his shoulder blades. Ginny's eyes were much bluer than he remembered, and right now they were piercing him with daggers of ice. It almost made him miss the way Tom had looked at him. "How long have I been gone?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Malfoy!" She took another step forward, jamming the tip of her wand into Draco's ribcage. "No matter how I felt about Harry leaving me for you, or how I felt about you in general, I thought that there had to at least be a _reason_ that he left me for you! I thought that there had to be some unfailingly redeeming quality that he saw in you to do something as drastic as call off our marriage! So what is it, huh? Because as far as I can tell, all you've done is—"

"—Make him miserable." And suddenly Ron was there too, looming over his sister's shoulder and glaring down at him like he was Voldemort reincarnate. "Malfoy," Ron growled, and that was all the warning Draco got before a fist slammed into his jaw.

A sickening crack echoed in his head as the Slytherin fell to his knees, his hand immediately cupping his wound. White danced across his vision and the taste of blood coated his tongue. He spit a mouthful of it out before replying, "That happy to see me are you, Weasley?" He looked up at the other boy, smirking even though his jaw protested the expression. "I'd return the sentiment of course, were there not an attempted murderer in our presence."

Draco couldn't see much out of his peripheral, but he could see that Ginny's face had gone white as a sheet. Not a moment, Ron's hands were fisting his collar and yanking him back to his feet. Draco's vision went black before focusing in on Ron's face, close and contorted with rage. "Whoa there, Weasley," he said, gripping Ron's hands and trying to pry them from his neck. "I'd rather you hit me than be tortured by your putrid breath."

"Malfoy, by Merlin, I swear I'll—"

"Drop him, Ron!"

The forceful booming of that voice sent a sharp chill down Draco's spine. The blonde turned his head to see Harry striding towards them, his jaw set and his cheeks flushed with anger. The Weasel's annoyingly smart girlfriend followed closely at his heels, her brow etched with worry. Ron's grip on his collar loosened, but the redhead didn't release him.

"Harry," Ron said as the other boy neared, "if you'd heard what he just said—"

"I don't care what he said." Harry's breath steamed through the rain as he spoke, and the very air seemed to take on an electric charge. "Let him go."

Ron did, and Draco didn't blame him. The look in Harry's eyes was nothing short of—_WHAM_! A searing pain exploded on Draco's left cheekbone as Harry's punch sent him reeling, once more, to the ground.

The blonde's senses took much longer to recover this time. Distantly he could hear Granger yelling something, but he was concentrating much harder on not passing out than trying to hear what the Mudblood had to say. He was glad at least that it was raining and that the water was cold enough to numb his skin. Why the hell was everyone hitting him anyway?

"Ginny, wait!" Harry's voice rang out above the ringing in Draco's ears. But the familiar loud pop signaled Ginny's departure. Another pop followed shortly after, and the blonde could only hope that the second Weasley had left as well.

Then, suddenly, there was a pair of strong warm arms wrapping around him and a soft voice whispering in his ear.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco pouted. "And you can expect to see the bills and a rather nasty letter from my plastic surgeon for destroying my beautiful face." He allowed Harry to help him to his feet, and he found himself leaning into the other boy more than he cared to admit.

Harry scoffed. "I didn't destroy your face."

"Harry?" Granger was hovering on the other side of him. The blonde scowled at her, but she ignored him—either that or his face really was in bad shape. "Do you need any help or…?" She left the words, _can I go after Ron_, hanging in the air.

"No. I've got him."

The brunette shifted nervously. "Are you taking him to St. Mungo's?"

Draco's eyes went wide and his head whipped over to Harry. St. Mungo's? Harry wouldn't dare.

"You know why I can't," Harry replied, carefully avoiding Draco's pressing gaze.

"Harry…someone else needs to know."

"You two do know that I'm standing right here, don't you?" Draco said petulantly.

Still, Harry ignored him. "Not yet. Not until we're sure."

Granger's brown eyes misted. "Harry…"

"Again, I'm right here!"

Harry did look at him then, and Draco's mouth snapped shut. He hadn't seen Harry look at him like that in a long time—not since that day in the Hogwarts train station at the end of their fifth year.

"Yeah, well, your legs can't exactly support you enough for you to walk away from the conversation, and that's nobody's fault but your own." Harry all but snarled the words, his mouth curling down at the edges like an animal ready to bare its teeth. "So zip it."

Draco stared at the other boy like he'd just grown a second head, but his lips remained firmly closed. Two flaring tempers certainly wasn't going to make the situation any better, especially with Draco in his current…state. The Slytherin growled. Harry had better be thankful that he was weak or chances were the Gryffindor would now be sporting a bruise to match his own.

Granger cleared her throat awkwardly. "How about I just drop by Malfoy Manor later?"

Draco glared at her. "You're not invited."

For some reason that made Harry pinch his side, hard.

"Ow!"

Harry looked at him. "Yes she is. Tell her you're sorry."

"I'm not about to—ow! OW! Ok, fine, I'm sorry!" Draco huffed as Harry loosened his iron grip. "Merlin, you've certainly become an abusive little tyrant in the—how long have I been gone exactly?"

Granger looked away suddenly, and Harry's face went very pale.

Finally, after a long while he responded. "Three months."

Draco didn't remember very much after that.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

The next thing Draco knew, he was in his bed in Malfoy Manor, a bowl of tomato soup sitting on a tray table positioned over his lap. Steam rose from the bowl and curled through the air, and the heat of it irritated the sore skin on his cheek and jaw. He touched his face absently. It didn't feel too swollen—that meant no broken bones at least. His blood pulsed as his fingers ran over the spot where Harry had hit him. For a moment he pressed his fingers harder into the bruise, somehow relishing in the sharp pain that shot through his skin. Merlin, he was probably lucky that Harry hadn't broken anything. Sighing, Draco lowered his hand once more.

Harry was sitting to his right, fiddling with his wand and breathing very quietly. The blonde glanced between him and the soup confusedly for a few moments, unsure of how to break the silence between them.

Three months. He'd been gone for three months. That was a long time—a quarter of a year. It was more than he had expected. It was more than he had planned for. That meant the time lapse was exponential instead of a set factor like he had hoped. So then that meant, if he was going to travel another two years forward…he would lose more time than he had left. He couldn't give Harry the full two years he had promised. Hell, he could barely even give him one.

Fuck.

"Draco," Harry said his name so softly that for a moment the blonde wasn't sure he'd even heard it. "Where were you?"

Draco looked at him, trying to keep his breaths deep and even. He wanted to say something—anything—but every lie he conjured just couldn't make it up his throat.

Emerald eyes raked over him. "You're not going to tell me, are you."

The Slytherin's heart contracted painfully. "Harry…"

"Just forget it then," Harry hissed, crossing his arms over his chest and falling back against the headboard. And in that moment, Draco knew that he had lost something. He could see it in Harry's face—all the warmth that had once illuminated his expressions was now gone. Harry didn't trust him anymore.

"Harry—"

"Aren't you going to eat your soup?"

"I—" Draco glanced down at his soup miserably, "—I don't have a spoon."

"I'll go get you one then."

And before Draco could even think to reply, Harry was already swinging his legs over the bed and practically sprinting out of the room. The blonde watched him go, a somber feeling choking his throat before it fell into his stomach.

Why was he such an idiot? Why did everything he ever tried to fix with Harry only end up more broken? Their relationship seemed to be nothing but a string of his mistakes, and every time he tried to turn it around everything just blew up in his face. Life didn't bother cutting him any slack when it came to reminding him of his place. _He_ was the one who dealt with demons. _He_ was the one who lied, and schemed, and plotted. _He_ was the one with the mark on his arm, as permanent as it was ugly. Where Harry…Merlin…Harry was everything that he wasn't.

"He doesn't seem to be too happy with you."

Draco jumped and very nearly upset his bowl of soup. He turned to see the demon sitting on his left, grinning as usual.

The demon quirked an eyebrow, his grin turning into a smirk. "This is some mess you've made for yourself. I am curious as to how you'll slither out of it."

Draco frowned and returned his gaze to the bedroom door. "What makes you so sure I'll be able to?"

"Because you want it badly enough."

The Slytherin hummed vaguely. He did want it enough—that much was obvious. So much had been put at risk. Back at Hogwarts, he remembered laughing at people like Harry, and Dumbledore, and all the other softhearted wannabe martyrs, thinking that all their high and mighty ideals did nothing more than make them weak. Love. Sacrifice. He'd thought them all fools…once. And now look at him—torn between what he had, and what he had to lose.

The demon sniggered behind him. "Oh how the mighty have fallen."

Harry appeared in the doorway not a moment later, his face flushed and a small silver spoon clutched tightly in his right hand. He climbed up onto the bed and handed Draco the spoon without once looking at him. Draco took it and began stirring his soup, watching the steam rise from it with feigned interest.

He needed to say something—anything—to make this better. This void between them couldn't be allowed to expand any farther. But..there was really only one thing he could say.

"You know," the blonde began slowly, trying not to think about his words as he spoke them, "there is a bright side to all of this."

Harry snorted.

"I fixed what I needed to fix." Draco let the lie hang in the air for a long moment. "I won't be needing to leave anymore.

Silence met Draco's ears, and his nerves began to twitter beneath his skin. Yet, though he ached to turn his head and see Harry's expression, he kept his eyes trained on his soup and his hand moving in a slow circular motion. He could feel the bed give as Harry shifted closer to him, and Draco had to hold his breath to keep himself from gasping.

"Really?" Harry's voice was deep, and tinted with a sorrow that Draco had hoped not to hear.

He looked at the other boy then, and held himself very still. His eyes couldn't leave Harry's. Not once. That part was crucial. Draco had to make Harry believe him. "Really," he said. "It's done." And when he said it, it almost felt like it was true.

"And the voice?"

Draco's expression didn't falter a fraction. "Gone."

Apprehension skulked across Harry's features, but apprehension, Draco thought, was much better than disbelief. Harry shifted even closer so that he was now practically leaning into the curve of Draco's shoulder. The blonde could feel heat radiating off Harry's body in pulsing waves.

"It's been too long."

Draco's lips quirked. "Too long since what?"

"Since I've seen you lie," Harry said, his eyes narrowing. "I've forgotten what it looks like. So right now I can't seem to decide if this is what you look like when you're telling the truth, or if this is what you look like when you're lying."

"You think I would lie to you about something like this?" Draco added a note of hurt to the accusation in his voice. The shot of guilt that coursed through him was palpable. But what else was he supposed to say? He was grasping at straws here. The only reason he was time traveling was to save his relationship with Harry, but what would that matter if there wasn't even a relationship to save? What other choice did he have?

Harry shrugged and leaned back once more. "You've lied about everything else haven't you?"

Draco felt the words hit him like a kick to the stomach. "Never about this—never about us."

Harry shrugged again. "Maybe."

Draco went to move, but once more the tray table gave a rattle of warning. Snarling, Draco lifted up the table and threw it off the bed. It hit the floor with a resounding crash. Draco saw Harry jump, but before the other boy even had a chance to react, Draco was grabbing him, forcing his left hand to Harry's right. Harry looked at him with wide startled eyes, but he didn't try to pull away. They were very close together now, and Draco was quite sure Harry could feel his pulse pounding where their wrists met.

"I never lied about loving you," the Slytherin said. That much at least was true, and the words felt like water to a parched tongue. "And when I said I would love you for always and forever, I meant it, and I know you meant it too, so don't you dare insult that by doubting it now. We've been through too much for that."

"Well maybe that's the problem," Harry returned, his breath heating Draco's face. "Maybe we _have_ been through too much, and we've finally reached our breaking point. Maybe making me remember was a mistake."

Draco didn't know how—maybe it was anger, or adrenaline, or something else entirely—but somehow he managed to push Harry back and pin him down. It was as if every ounce of weakness was lifted from his body in a moment. "Don't say that," Draco hissed. His fingers curled around Harry's wrists. "You still love me, don't you?"

Harry just stared up at him.

"Don't you?" the blonde pressed.

"Yes," Harry replied softly.

"Then we can do this, alright? We are _not_ a mistake."

Then, suddenly, Harry grinned and his whole face seemed to light up. His grin quickly rose into a laugh, and it was Draco's turn to stare.

Draco blinked once, then twice. "In case you hadn't noticed, Potter, I'm trying to have a serious moment here."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Harry whispered between bursts of laughter. "It's just—I could tell right then."

"You could tell what?"

Harry's grin was stretching from ear to ear. "That you meant what you said, just then I mean. I could tell that you were telling the truth." The Gryffindor shook his head. "Here I am going on about how I can't tell anymore, and then all of a sudden I could just see it."

Snickering, Draco nudged Harry aside and lifted his pillow and began feeling underneath it. He then lifted the sheets and mimicked his previous action, knowing all the while that Harry was looking at him like he was half mad and not caring one bit.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, laughing.

"I'm looking for some marbles," Draco replied, sending Harry a sly wink. "You seem to have lost yours—not that you had many to begin with, mind you."

Harry smacked the blonde's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Don't be a ponce, Draco. You should be happy that I could tell!"

"Anyone can get lucky once."

"Fine." Harry pushed himself back up into a sitting position, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes gleamed with a stubborn defiance that Draco knew all too well. "Give me something else."

The Slytherin raised a brow. "Something else?"

"Say something else and I'll tell you whether or not you're lying."

Draco sighed dramatically. "It's always games with you, isn't it. Very well then." He gazed up thoughtfully, before saying, "I get off on thinking about Snape wearing nothing but a frilly pink apron."

Harry's face paled dramatically, and his jaw went completely slack. There was a very long pause before Harry finally found his voice. "You're—you're completely disgusting, do you know that?" His face contorted, mirroring his words. "Ew! I mean, Snape? Seriously? I _really_ could've done without that mental image."

"I don't know," Draco shrugged, "he did have a rather nice arse. And you could tell when he bent over that—" But he was cut off by Harry's hand pressed against his mouth.

"I think you've scarred me enough for one day, thank you very much."

Draco smiled innocently against the other boy's palm, but his smile faltered as Harry's eyes became grave once more. Slowly, he pulled Harry's hand from his mouth and folded it between his own. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing really…it's just that…" Harry's head turned so that his face was perfectly framed by the light pouring in from the windows. Draco couldn't truthfully say that he had never noticed Harry's beauty before. He'd always had those piercing green eyes, that windswept jet black hair, and that airbrushed sun-kissed skin. But it seemed to different now, like before there were only pieces and now it had all come together into one glorious picture. It wasn't just his eyes, or his hair, or his skin that Draco noticed now, but the manner in which he sat, the subtle strength in his shoulders, and the strong line of determination in his jaw. All of it together—the good and the bad, and the ugly and the beautiful—everything that made Harry so distinctly and undeniably Harry, _that_ was what Draco saw now. And he couldn't imagine loving anything more. "This is how I want it to always be with us. This is how it was, wasn't it? Easy? Effortless?"

"Loving you has never been easy," Draco admitted, his heart breaking as he felt Harry's hand tense in his own. "But it has always been effortless."

Harry looked at him then, his expression lingering somewhere between the line of hope and despair. "What does that mean?"

"It means that…there were many times when I didn't want to love you, and when I did love you and I knew that I shouldn't. There were many times that I fought and struggled against you and against us, but it was always in vain. Because, once I knew you, I couldn't help but love you. It became part of who I was. Hard to accept though it may have been, loving you is the only thing that has ever felt completely natural to me."

Harry bit his lip. The silence that sat between them seemed to stretch on forever. "So," he began slowly, "it really is over? You're not going to leave anymore?"

"No," Draco replied unwaveringly.

"You promise?"

"Yes."

"Draco…really…you have to promise me. I don't know if I can do it again. Please, promise me that this is all done."

The blonde clenched his teeth before replying, "I promise."

"Draco," Harry leaned in closer to him, his eyes shining and his brows pulled together by sincerity. Then, just as he was about to speak, Harry kissed him. Draco's heart soared in his chest as Harry's hands glided up into his hair. He didn't need words to know what the Gryffindor was telling him—the touch of his lips was more than enough. Harry was telling him that he felt the same way—that it was impossible, and unwanted, and overwhelming, but somehow their love for each other had survived. Together, they were stronger than everything that had risen against them.

_Except for me_, the demon hissed in the back of his mind.

The Slytherin shivered involuntarily. He pulled back, his vision momentarily listing as an intense burst of vertigo washed over his body.

"Draco?"

Harry's voice sounded muffled, like his ears had been stuffed with cotton. Draco struggled to respond, but found his voice caught in his throat. He couldn't breathe—he was choking on his own words.

"Draco, are you alright?"

Then, Harry's hands moved and everything seemed to jolt back into focus. Draco stared at the other boy, breathing deeply through his nose and swallowing repeatedly. "I…" he began shakily, "of course. That was just…really nice."

"The kiss?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah."

"Well in that case," Harry threw him a raucous grin before jumping on top of him. In an instant, Draco's wrists were pinned to the mattress and his waist was firmly locked between Harry's thighs. The Gryffindor descended on him slowly, and Draco could feel his pulse pounding against Harry's palms. "How about something a little bit more?"

"You have no idea how tempting that sounds," Draco said, smirking, "but considering the fact that a few hours ago I was practically a quadriplegic, I don't think—"

"I'll be gentle," Harry breathed the words into the skin on Draco's neck. "I just want to feel you against me." Teeth grazed along flesh, and the blonde felt his blood ignite as Harry's tongue darted out to tease him. "Please?"

"Merlin," Draco's breath hitched as Harry moved up to his ear. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?" He tried not to think about how true those words could potentially be.

Harry laughed against him. "I don't think I would mind dying like this."

Draco could only hum in agreement as Harry's tongue trailed fire across his throat. Ever so slowly, Harry's mouth moved, caressing the line of his jaw and bemoaning the dark bruise on his cheek. His body hovered just over Draco's, their chests and hips touching just enough for the blonde to feel the whispering promise of heated skin.

When their lips finally met, Draco thought his heart would fly from his chest. All the air he had been holding in his lungs left him all at once. Then Harry moved against him, and Draco could tell he was holding back. In between the feverish breaths and the quivering muscles, the blonde could taste hunger—pure and raw and starving. How long had it been since they'd been like this—together with nothing between them?

Except…there was something still between them.

Just then, Harry's chest sank down and—"Ow!" the Gryffindor gasped. He pushed himself up, cheeks red and lips swollen, and stared down at Draco with quizzical eyes. "I didn't think you liked wearing jewelry," he said, his hand sliding down the Slytherin's chest to finger the Time Turner through his shirt.

Draco's hands darted to Harry's wrist, jerking his hand back. Harry's face contorted with something halfway between pain and confusion, and the Slytherin's body stiffened with panic. "I—"

Then, suddenly, the door slammed open. A red-faced, very irate looking Hermione Granger stormed in with a frightened looking Binky clutching at the hem of her skirt.

"You isn't allowed in, miss!" Binky squealed. "The master hasn't invited you!"

"Malfoy will see me if he knows what's good for—oh!" Granger's eyes went large as saucers as they took in the sight before her. After all, it probably wasn't every day one found one's best friend straddling his ex arch nemesis.

Harry's entire body gave a violent lurch as he practically launched himself from Draco's bed right into the pool of spilled soup.

"Granger," Draco said, annoyance coloring his tone, "didn't I tell you that you weren't invited?"

"See!" Binky cried.

The brunette snorted, her annoyance somehow breaking through her embarrassment. "The day I listen to a half-delusional arrogant prat will be a cold day in hell, Malfoy."

Draco turned back towards Harry, who had finally managed to pull himself to his feet, his robes dripping and stained. "Considering the fact that you listen to cocky Mr. Deathwish over here all the time, you may want to invest in a good dictionary to make sure you're not just throwing around words you don't know the meaning of."

Harry just stared at him, looking mortified. The blonde shrugged before sliding his gaze back over to Granger—he had thought the joke was cute. "What is it you want, Granger? Harry and I were kind of in the middle of something I'd like to get back to."

"Draco!" Harry squeaked.

The Slytherin waved him off. "Oh, don't acting like you weren't enjoying yourself just as much as I was."

"Harry, if it's all the same to you, I'd like a moment alone with Malfoy," the brunette said, looking well beyond aggravated now.

"Absolutely not—"

"—What for?"

Harry and Draco said simultaneously. Granger, however, only seemed to care about addressing Harry's response. "I want to make sure he understands what he's gotten himself in to." Her eyes narrowed. "In a language he can understand."

"Granger," Draco huffed, "I know you must find me devastatingly attractive and all, especially after staring at the big-nosed ginger of your all day, but really, I want nothing to do with you or your golden snitch…it could give me Hogwarts."

Silence.

The blonde threw his arms up and fell back against the headboard, pushing out a melodramatic sigh. "Karma would have it that my best material is wasted on Gryffindors."

"Right then," Harry said, fingering his robes nervously. "Well I suppose I can go wash these off somewhere."

Draco's head whipped over to glare at him. "Or you could just use your wand and stay."

"It's not like she's going to do anything to you, Draco. She just wants to talk."

"Her talking _is_ doing something to me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how you feel when you come back in here and find my lifeless body on the bed." Draco knew before he had even finished that he had gone too far. He didn't know if Granger had noticed Harry's flinch, but the flash of pain in the other boy's eyes had been like a shard of ice ripping through Draco's heart.

Harry's gaze immediately found the ground. "Take as much time as you need." And without another word, Harry fled from the room.

Binky, who was still clinging to Granger's skirt, watched him go with wide sad eyes. She turned back to Draco, her lower lip quivering pathetically. "What is you wanting Binky to do, master?"

Draco's growl of annoyance rumbled deep in the back of his throat. "Go on and help him clean up."

Seeming more than happy to be sent off on a task she could actually accomplish, Binky scurried from the room, leaving the Slytherin and the Gryffindor alone in the stark silence.

There was a long moment before Granger finally said, in her usual uptight huffy voice, "He's upset."

Draco scoffed. "Nothing slips by you does it."

Granger crossed her arms over her chest, her brow pulling together. "I should think you'd be more upset, seeing as it's mostly your fault and all."

"My fault!" Draco exclaimed. "What in the world led you to that conclusion? For all you know he could be upset because the last time the two of us were alone together we were plotting how to erase his memories."

"_We_ were not plotting, Malfoy! _You_ were! We were just dumb enough to actually listen to you."

Draco chortled. "Yeah, well you know what they say: the truth is in the eye of the person who holds the bees."

"That's not—" Granger sighed heavily, pressing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. "This isn't how I wanted to start this conversation."

"Emotionally constipated?" he offered.

"Annoyed," the brunette snapped back. She shook out her bushy hair and roller her shoulders back, but instead of relieving the tension the motion seemed to make her look even more ruffled than before. "Look, just tell me where it is."

The blonde's heart skipped a beat. He became very still. "Where what is?"

"Whatever you've been using to perform the dark magic you've been using."

Draco had to stop himself from raising his hand to his chest, where the Time Turner lay hidden beneath his robes. "What would make you think I've been doing dark magic?"

"What would make me—" Granger bit down on her tongue even as her voice echoed off the walls. Her cheeks had grown quite red now from the strain of keeping her temper in check. "Malfoy," she ground out through clenched teeth, "you know as well as I do that Obliviation spells are irreversible save for by some pretty nasty—and very illegal—spells."

"How I gave Harry back his memories really isn't any of your business, Granger."

"It's about Harry so that makes it my business!"

Draco gave her a cool withering look. "Hardly."

"You weren't with him all those weeks you were gone, Malfoy! Do you even know what it was like—watching him find you only to have you ripped away all over again? You've already broken his heart once and I'm not going to just stand idly by and let you do it again!"

"Harry and I are fine!" Draco yelled, so forcefully that his vision momentarily went white. He ran a hand through his hair as a guise to steady himself, and was surprised by how warm his forehead felt. "Everything is fine."

"Everything is fine? Malfoy," Granger rounded on him, her eyes alive with fury. "I know you're not exactly the brightest crayon in the box, but I never in my wildest dreams thought—"

"I don't exactly know what a crayon is, but from the sound of it I'm pretty sure I don't appreciate being compared to one."

Granger blinked, momentarily discomposed by Draco's interruption. "That's hardly my point!"

"Then why are you bringing crayons into this at all?"

"It's an analogy!" Hermione said, gesturing wildly.

Draco leered at her, "Well if you're using an analogy to make your point, then I dare say my understanding said analogy would be crucial to me understanding your point!"

"I want to know what the hell you were thinking using magic that you have no business using! There! Was that clear enough for you?"

"Well it worked, didn't it?" Why was the room starting to spin? He didn't remember it having that feature before.

"At what cost? Have you even seen yourself since we found you?"

"Granger, I really am flattered, but I don't think Weasley would appreciate—"

"Stop kidding around, Malfoy! This is serious!" She was standing at the edge of his bed now, and for some reason looking up at her made his head hurt. Her eyes seemed darker than they had been before—nearly black. "You need to go to St. Mungo's, but Harry won't take you out of fear they'll arrest you."

"Arrest me?" Yes, her eyes were definitely darker now.

"But if you just tell me what you used—we can make it all look like an accident. We could get you help and Harry wouldn't—"

"Why are you pretending to be her?" the Slytherin asked suddenly.

"What?" Granger blinked. Or, at least, Draco thought she blinked. The light at her back made her look sort of fuzzy around the edges, and his eyes couldn't quite manage focusing on hers. "What are you talking about?"

"You usually look like Harry. You know I would never swing for Granger." The room began to spin again, more violently this time. "Oh." Draco didn't bother to pretend to be doing something else as he brought his hand to his head. "Listen, this has been fun—and by fun I mean the metaphorical equivalent to shards of glass in my eyes—but I'm starting to get a migraine. Can we do this later?"

"Malfoy!" suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, but he couldn't tell if they were hot or cold. His vision was starting to fade again, but this time it was going black instead of white. "Harry! HARRY! Binky, go find Harry!"

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>We really are getting into the final stretch now! I'd say there are about 5 chapters left before the story is done! Yay!<p>

**If you enjoyed, please review!**


	16. On Our Last Night

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language, and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Yay fluff chapter! ^_^ I know you guys have been waiting for one! Also, this chapter is dedicated to the lovely **iamnipuni** becaauuuuuuse I love her! And I miss singing this song in the car...

And also ****ThexBlairxWitch** **has yet again come to the rescue of my crazy writing flaws!

Ah sorry! I was messing around and accidentally deleted this chapter (because my cat loves to step on my trackpad) and had to re-add it DX I'm sorry to those who reviewed...

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_Before you met me I was alright_

_But things were kinda heavy, you brought me to life_

_Now every February you'll be my Valentine_

_Let's go all the way tonight_

_No regrets, just love_

_We can dance until we die_

_You and I will be young forever_

_You make me feel like I'm livin' a teenage dream_

_The way you turn me on, I can't sleep _

_Let's run away and don't ever look back_

_My heart stops when you look at me_

_Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real_

_So take a chance and don't ever look back_

-Darren Criss (song originally by Katy Perry)

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>"Are you sure you're feeling up to coming to my game today?" Harry asked for the millionth time that morning. The two boys were currently seated in the informal dining room, a feast of breakfast delights laid out in front of them—most of which Harry had hardly touched. He never did have much of an appetite on the mornings before games.<p>

Draco rolled his eyes before heaping another spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate. "Harry, this is the Quidditch Cup semi-finals, I'd be going to the game whether you were playing in it or not."

"I know, but—"

"No buts. I told you, I'm fine." And he was fine. The better part of three weeks had passed since his last jump forward in time. Once more, he had gained back most of the weight he had lost, and his headaches were becoming less and less frequent. Hell, it had even been a couple of days since the demon had last paid him a visit. Overall, things were looking pretty good.

Of course, all of that would change tomorrow. He had allowed himself these last couple of weeks with Harry, but they hadn't come without a cost. Tomorrow was the absolute last day he could use his Time Turner and still give Harry ten months of the two years he had promised. Tomorrow was the last chance he had to fix this. Which meant he sure as hell wasn't going to waste today.

"Well," Harry took a small bite from his toast, "are you still sure you don't want to sit in my box?"

"Are Weasley and Granger still going to be there?"

Harry nodded as he gulped down some orange juice.

"Then no." The last thing he needed was Granger trying to convince him to go to St. Mungo's again—or worse, convince Harry to make him go. She'd been a constant thorn in his side ever since he'd passed out in her presence. Really, seeing as she was training to be a mediwizard, he'd though she wouldn't come so unwound around unconscious bodies. On several occasions he had tried owling her university suggesting her need for a career path change, but Harry had always caught him before he could send anything out. Apparently Harry thought she was just trying to be "helpful". Draco wondered if that was what they would tell the future witches and wizards under her care when she wigged out on them. Oh, that hospital was going to get sued so fast.

Harry glanced down at his watch and nearly choked on his juice. Some of it spilled down his chin before he had the chance to regain his composure. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he sprang to his feet. "Merlin, I'm going to be late for warm-up! Draco, you remember the locker room password don't you?"

"I don't know," Draco twirled his fork around in the air. "Hearing it twenty-three times may not have been sufficient. My brain does seem to be growing feeble in my old age."

Despite the mocking tone in Draco's voice, Harry smiled warmly. "Well just to make it an even twenty-four: spidermonkey." He walked over to Draco's side of the table and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "I'm really excited that you're coming."

The blonde's heart pounded just a little bit harder. "I wouldn't miss it."

If it was possible, Harry's smile broadened even further. "Ok, well," he grabbed his bag off the table, "I'll see you at the pitch!"

"Sounds good. See you there."

Harry waved one last time and made his way out of the dining room, leaving Draco to sit alone in the midmorning sun.

"Did you miss me?"

Or maybe no so alone.

The Slytherin turned slowly, suppressing the urge to snarl when he found the demon sitting in the seat Harry had occupied not one minute ago.

The demon propped his chin up on his palm and smirked. "Aren't you even going to say hello?"

"I'm afraid that would imply that you're actually welcome here—so, no, I hadn't planned on it."

He laughed, and the sound was like nails scraping a chalkboard. "Well someone's in a mood."

Draco pushed himself back from the table and rose to his feet, his appetite suddenly lost. "I have somewhere I need to be." Pushing down another snarl, he spun on his heel and made for the door.

"You're leaving again tomorrow, aren't you?"

For some reason, those words pulled Draco to a stop. "What does it matter?" he asked, and immediately wished he hadn't.

"It matters quite a bit, I'd say. By the time you get back, I'd wager another—what—five and a half months or so will have passed. You know where that puts you, don't you?"

Of course Draco knew—he had calculated the numbers meticulously. "One year."

"One year," the demon repeated gleefully. "I would consider trying to convince you not to go, but this really is much more fun. I'm hoping you're making this day count—it's the last one you'll ever have with him."

Draco rounded where he stood, his pulse flying, but the demon was already gone.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Watching Harry fly really was something. If Draco had ever truly envied the other boy of one thing, it was his ability to fly. No amount of training could teach the kind of fluidity and grace that Harry moved with. He did not fear the broom nor the plummeting fall beneath his feet, and he seemed to relish the feeling of the wind on his face. He looked…free.

The crowd began to scream as the two seekers entered a spectacular dive, the little golden ball beating its wings furiously as it barreled towards the ground. Draco pressed himself up against the glass of his private box, his breath caught in his throat even though he already knew how this was going to end. Both seekers were neck-and-neck, but Draco could already see that the other seeker was sending nervous glances at Harry. They were already dangerously close to the pitch. Most players would've pulled out of the dive already, but Harry was not most players. His gaze was focused, honed in on the snitch like his life depended on it. Then, just as the other seeker bailed out of his dive, Harry's arm stretched out. Draco's hands were pressing against the glass so hard that the tips of his fingers had gone white. He was going to hit the ground. He was too close. He was going to—suddenly Harry spun, his body curling sideways towards the pitch and his shoulder barely brushing the grass before the turn propelled him upwards once more. The next second his fist had closed around the snitch. Puddlemere had won.

The crowd went nuts. It was, undoubtedly, the most spectacular dive any of them had ever seen. Hell, it was probably one of the most spectacular dives that had ever been accomplished in the history of Quidditch. Had this been any other Quidditch match, Draco would've probably been swooning like a rabid fanboy, but as it was, this wasn't any ordinary game. Harry had been playing…

And he had almost died.

Steeling himself, and pushing down the wave of anger that had rushed up into his chest, the Slytherin turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. The hall outside the box was a madhouse. Puddlemere fans were already in full celebration mode. Draco narrowly ducked a flying stream of butterbeer, and even more narrowly dodged the punch that was thrown after the drink hit its target. After about five more minutes of ducking and dodging and squeezing through sweaty bodies, the blonde finally reached the lift, his temper on fire.

"Locker rooms," he shouted at the lift operator.

"You'll need a passwo—"

"I have the fucking password, you twit!" Draco snapped without hesitation. "Just go!"

Nodding nervously, the lift operator pulled the elevator lever. The Slytherin's stomach jumped up into his throat as the lift began to drop.

Down and down the lift went, until the light became dim and the air cool. Finally it stopped and the door slid open with a metallic squeak, Draco stepped out into a wide hall that was cut short by two extraordinarily tacky blue and gold doors. He heard the lift close and take off behind him, leaving the hallway even dimmer than before.

Draco walked up to the double doors, staring at them with a certain mistrust. "Spidermonkey." The doors gave a loud protesting groan before it swung open to reveal the rest of the hall.

The roar of the crowd washed over Draco's ears with a renewed vigor, making them ring. Light from the pitch poured in through the opening at the end of the hall, blocked only by the swarm of blue and gold clad Quidditch players that were jovially parading to the locker rooms. Harry was hoisted high on the shoulders of the two Puddlemere beaters, laughing and waving the snitch in the air as his teammates chanted his name.

Then their eyes connected, and suddenly all the noise seemed to die away. In one fluid movement, Harry leapt down from the beaters' shoulders and ran towards him. Draco felt his whole body seize, though he couldn't quite tell if it was because of anger or something else entirely.

"Hey," Harry said, slightly breathless in the midst of all the excitement.

Draco snorted. "Don't hey me! That stunt you pulled out there was nothing short of—"

"I have something for you," Harry interrupted, his face lighting up with a brilliant smile that made Draco's mouth go dry. He didn't appear to have noticed the irritation in the blonde's tone, or if he had he was ignoring it completely. He held out his hand, his fingers splayed, and there in his palm was the snitch he had caught to win the game. Draco stared down at it with wide eyes. Generally speaking, professional seekers were not allowed to keep the snitches they caught. Of course, snitches had touch memory so they couldn't exactly be reused once caught in a game, but the Ministry liked to keep them on file for reasons the blonde had never really bothered to learn. Even so, game referees were usually very stringent about collecting them. Whatever Harry had done to procure it was assuredly no small feat. Seekers were lucky if they got to keep one snitch over the course of their entire career.

Slowly, Draco began shaking his head. "No. No way. I can't accept that. It's _yours_. You caught it—it won't even open for me."

Harry laughed. "Yes it will. Here," Harry shook his hand emphatically. "Just try it."

"Harry—"

"Just _try_ it, Draco."

Sighing and muttering irately under his breath about the stubbornness of Gryffindors, the Slytherin plucked the snitch from Harry's palm. He held it for a long moment, rolling the smooth warm metal under the pads of his fingers. "See?" he said finally. "Nothing's happe—" He paused when the snitch twittered slightly, and began to vibrate in his hand. Draco very nearly dropped it, but managed to keep the ball steady in his hands even as the little wings unfurled from its body and began to beat furiously. It hovered for a few moments before dropping complacently back into his palm. Draco's eyes lifted to meet Harry's, his heart racing.

"But…how did you—?"

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a clumped ball of leather. He unrolled the ball and dangled the material in front of Draco's face. "I used your gloves," he said cheerfully.

"My gloves…" Draco blinked. "But that doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. Snitches have touch memory right? So I figured all I had to do was trick it into thinking you touched it."

"You had no idea this would actually work did you." It was more of a statement than a question.

The Gryffindor shrugged, still grinning. "I'm Harry Potter—I tend to get lucky."

Draco shook his head, returning his gaze back to the snitch, which was still fluttering its wings excitedly. He smiled faintly. "You're such an idiot."

"I—" Harry seemed to falter. "Do you not like it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snipped, his jaw going tense. "Of course I like it. It's bloody fucking amazing. Which is why I'm so upset!"

"Er…"

"I came down here to yell at you for that dangerous stunt you pulled, not to be wooed by you and your stupid Gryffindor sentimentality!"

Harry cast him a poor excuse for a pout. "You didn't like my dive? I'd've thought you'd be impressed."

"Impressed?" Draco said incredulously. "By what? The fact that you don't even care if you live or die? Do you even realize how dangerous that dive was? Even Wronski would never have attempted something like that!"

Harry was silent for a long moment, his mouth hanging open in a small 'o' and his eyebrows raised. Then, quite suddenly, his expression changed. His green eyes lit up and the edges of his lips began to curl. "You were worried about me," Harry said slowly, tauntingly.

"What?" Draco's fist closed around the snitch as he stepped forward defiantly. "I was not!"

It was more than obvious that the other boy didn't believe him. "If you weren't worried then why are you so upset?"

"I've been angry at you for plenty of reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with being worried about you."

Harry raised a disagreeing finger. "Yes, but that was before we had sex."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We haven't had sex in almost two years. I don't even think it really counts anymore."

"Well," Harry stepped even closer, his frame curling into the blondes, "maybe we should change that," he finished in a teasing whisper. The next thing Draco knew, Harry's hands had slid around the back of his neck and drew him into a slow languid kiss.

Distantly, the Slytherin could hear the catcalls of the few remaining Quidditch players in the hall, but it was only a moment before the soft warmth of Harry's lips had everything else slipping away. Harry pressed against him fully, teasing Draco's mouth open with his tongue. Draco allowed him, greedily soaking in the other boy's taste as the space between them seemed to disappear. Their tongues slid together, igniting Draco's blood like a match to oil. He pulled Harry towards the wall, turning and pushing him back against it if only so they'd have something solid to hold them both up.

Harry laughed against him. "I didn't mean right now you know."

Sneering, the blonde nipped at the Gryffindor's bottom lip. "Well you should learn to be more specific then. Technically I'm still a teenager, remember?"

"I don't need to remember when I can feel." Brazenly, Harry rocked his hips against Draco's.

Draco hissed, his fingers clenching even tighter around the snitch. He stepped back briskly, straightening out his robes in his usual precise manner. "Tease."

Harry raised a brow at him, his grin going lopsided. "We'll see. Let me go grab a quick shower and then we'll go to dinner?"

"Can't we just go home and take a shower together?" Draco asked, just the barest hint of hope under his mocking tone.

Shaking his head, Harry kissed Draco on the cheek before whispering in his ear, "I'll be out in a few minutes. Wait for me here."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Draco," Harry glanced around nervously, "aren't we a bit—erm—underdressed?"

Draco's eyes trailed around the room, sliding over the finely carved wooden fixtures to the glittering crystal chandeliers to the white cloth covered tables to the witches and wizards all dressed in hand tailored evening wear, and shrugged noncommittally. "I own the place, so I don't really think they'll mind much."

Harry goggled at him as the hostess led them back to a private booth. "You own a restaurant?"

"Six actually. Working for Gringotts taught me a lot about investments, and I often found myself in need of…distractions." He cast Harry a wary glance before sliding into his seat. He hadn't meant for the words to sound quite so accusatory, or quite so pathetic.

Harry slid in across from him, his lips pursed. "You mean—" he struggled for a moment. "You mean because of me, right?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco said quickly, waving him off. "Forget I said anything."

Harry folded his hands on the table, looking uncomfortable. His jaw was starting to tighten, the way it always did when he was about to get upset. "I really don't mind talking about it, you know. You went through a lot in that year, and I know…" He trailed off, his eyes dropping.

"You know what?"

Harry's head lowered ever so slightly. "I know what it's like to be alone," he answered softly.

Draco's heart fluttered painfully. "Harry, don't."

"I know you had it worse than me, though. I mean, your mother died for Merlin's sake, and we've never—"

"I said don't!" Draco was surprised by just how much he sounded like his sixteen year old self in that moment. He paused, clearing his mind with a deep breath and trying not to pay attention to the hurt that shone in Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry," he reached over the table and pulled Harry's hand into his own. "I just don't want to talk about stuff like that tonight is all."

Harry nodded, frowning. "But, you know that if you ever do want to talk about it…"

"That you'll be here to listen. And the same goes for you too." _If I'm alive to do it._ The blonde swallowed against the lump in his throat. He shouldn't think things like that. He and Harry had always been able to figure something out, and this time wouldn't be any different.

"I'm sure I'll take you up on that," Harry said, the corner of his mouth lifting. "But you're right—not tonight. Tonight we should just celebrate and have fun."

"And eat some ridiculously expensive food."

Harry withdrew his hand to pick up his menu. "Is it really that bad?" He scanned the page briefly. "Wait, there aren't even any prices listed."

"That's how you know," the Slytherin explained, nodding to himself as he picked up his own menu.

"Know what?"

"That you're so obscenely rich that price is no longer a factor of consideration in the things that you do. Though, I assume with what Puddlemere pays you, you're already well aware of this effect."

Harry shrugged. "I give most of it away." He set down his menu. "I don't really need it anyway."

Draco smirked at him. "You may after tonight."

"May what?"

"Need the money."

"What?" Harry's eyes widened. "What for?"

"For dinner of course. You didn't think I was going to let you have sex with me for free did you?"

Harry glowered, his nose wrinkling beneath the bridge of his glasses. "Oh, so you're _letting_ me now, hm?

"You're quite right, I shouldn't say 'let'. It should be something more along the lines of 'bestow the privilege.'"

"Says the boy who once snogged Neville Longbottom." Harry said with a snort.

The Slytherin pressed his hand to his chest, faking an affronted look. "It pains me to hear you say that with such disdain! For all you know, Longbottom is a far superior kisser than you could ever hope to be!"

"And was he?"

"No, but that's hardly the point. Though I will say that those socially shunned, crazy types always seem to be packing downstairs. It a mysterious yet horrifyingly disturbing connection."

Harry laughed brightly. "Well in that case, Voldemort must've been hung like a hippogri—" The Gryffindor's hand practically slammed over his mouth. "Merlin. I'm so sorry, Draco. I really didn't—"

"—It's fine, Harry," Draco said softly.

"No it isn't. It was cruel and insensitive." And as Harry continued, Draco saw that thre really were things that the other boy wanted to talk about—needed to talk about. Things that had always been there but they'd simply never had time for. They each knew who the other person was—knew their mind; what kinds of things made them laugh or sigh, or throw a well aimed punch. But neither of them really knew what lay underneath that. Draco knew who Harry was, but he didn't know _why_ he was the way he was. He didn't know why Harry shied away from small cramped spaces, or why he didn't like buying himself nice clothing even though he had more than enough funds to do so, or why his eyes would grow wistful and sad any time a large black dog passed their way. Draco knew that he loved Harry, but it wasn't enough.

And they didn't have the time.

"Harry," the blonde said his name once more, putting on a confident smile. "Really, it's fine. You don't have to apologize. I've dealt with it. I dealt with it a long time ago."

Harry looked at him with large worried eyes. "But—"

"Good evening, gentlemen."

Both boys looked to the side. Draco sighed, feeling himself relax a bit. Saved by the waiter.

He was a tall, thickly built sort of man, with ruddy cheeks and a full black mustache, but his tux was sharply pressed and his shoes shined like ebony mirrors. The waiter bowed slightly when he was sure he had their full attention. "Always nice to see you, Mr. Malfoy. You gave us all quite a scare disappearing for the whole winter without notice, but I'm glad to see you're back and in good health. And here with Mr. Potter, I see! Jolly good. I heard the Puddlemere game today was really something to see! Off to the Quidditch cup soon, eh?"

Draco glared up at the man, the muscles that had relaxed just moments ago already tense again and aching to spring. He _hated_ chatty waiters. Temper spiking, the Slytherin was just about to open his mouth to tell the man off when he felt Harry's foot slide against his leg. Draco looked over to find Harry staring at him, a gently soothing expression blanketing his features. The temperature of Draco's blood dropped a few degrees, and when the waiter asked what they would like to drink, he was somehow able to calmly reply, "Bring us a bottle of the Vina Cobos Malbec."

The moment the waiter was out of earshot, Harry leaned forward over the table. "You really were about to go off on that guy weren't you?" There were notes of amusement in the Gryffindor's tone, and it hadn't escaped the blonde's notice that Harry's foot was still slowly trailing up and down his leg.

"He was being chatty," Draco replied petulantly. "I don't like chatty."

"Is that why you don't like Hermione?"

"I don't like Granger because she's an annoying little know-it-all that always butts into other people's business. I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I even feel a bit sorry for Weasley."

"Don't be," Harry said, sipping from his glass of water and grinning. "He loves it. He soaks up the attention she gives him like a dry sponge."

"Right. Well, I suppose that's easy to understand, what with the size of his family…" Draco trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"She really does mean well with all of it though." Harry said, and then after a while added, "I'm glad she was wrong about you though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well—" he was cut off by the waiter's abrupt return. Both boys fell into a weighted silence as Draco sampled the wine, nodded his approval, and watched as their servings were poured. Their orders were taken—Harry got the chicken, and Draco the 12oz filet—and the waiter left them after a much more formal exchange of words, for which the blonde was endlessly thankful. He made a mental note to later confront his manager about his standards for employment. That was…if he ever did get to.

Harry smiled sheepishly at him. "Anyway, all I meant was that I'm glad you didn't have to go back to St. Mungo's."

Draco took a long draught of wine. "Yeah," he replied vaguely, very much hoping that Harry could recognize that this was also on the list of things he didn't want to talk about tonight.

"She had this crazy idea, you know," Harry continued in his adorably clueless fashion, "that the spell you had performed to give me my memories back had gone all wrong, and that was why you had been disappearing. But, in the end, that wasn't it at all."

The Gryffindor looked at him then, and Draco felt his heart contact. He swallowed his mouthful of wine with a bit more difficulty this time.

"In the end, you left so that you could make everything better—permanent. You left so that we could be here, now." Slowly, he reached across the table and brushed the tips of their fingers together, blushing even as he did so.

The Slytherin shivered despite himself. The feeling of Harry's skin against his own never ceased to amaze him. It was so warm, scouring him with tiny pricks of static electricity. He slide his hand farther under Harry's, silently mesmerized by it.

"Draco…" Even though Harry said it quietly, the blonde was still startled by the suddenness of the sound. "Can I ask you a stupid question?"

Draco's smirk wasn't quite put together. "I really don't think you need the adjective—I already assume that all the questions you ask me are going to be stupid."

Undeterred, the Gryffindor pressed on. "When did you first know that you loved me?"

"When I first saw how big your prick was," Draco replied with a sharp affirmative nod.

Harry's face turned redder than a tomato in summer. "Draco!" he hissed, glancing around nervously at the surrounding tables. "I was trying to be serious, you know."

"And I wasn't? You shouldn't be so quick to brush it off. After all, I'm not that easily impressed, and—"

"Draco!"

A laugh bubbled up the blonde's throat. "Okay fine. Fine. I'll be sappy and romantic if that's what you want." He leaned forward dramatically, dropping his chin so that he was staring at Harry through a thin veil of pale lashes. "You want to know when I first knew that I loved you?" Draco had meant for his voice to sound deep, husky, and exaggerated, but somehow he hadn't been able to keep the sincerity from his tone.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, the remnants of his blush still heating his cheeks.

"It was the night you came to see me," the Slytherin said smoothly, "to ask if I had been spying on Ginny."

Harry shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably. Draco could imagine that wasn't exactly one of his fondest memories. The Gryffindor blew out a short breath. "You knew that early?"

"It's weird, I know." Draco turned his hand so that his fingers could curl into Harry's. "Especially since I knew what…what I had to do to you. But when I saw you lying out there, and I thought you were hurt—Merlin—I don't think I can remember my heart ever beating so fast. And, I just…knew."

Harry glanced up thoughtfully. "Is that why you got so upset when I kissed you in the shower?"

"I was upset because that kiss meant more to me than it did to you," Draco said with a huff.

"Well, that's awfully presumptuous of you," Harry returned.

"Oh please," Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. "You were under the influence of a love spell."

"But I could still tell the difference between it and…" Harry's blush returned with renewed vigor. "You know…us."

The blonde raised a skeptical brow. "You could tell the difference, huh? Enlighten me then. When did you know that you loved me?"

Harry swallowed audibly. "When did I know?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"Well—er…" The other boy's lips quirked. "There was this one moment when we were sitting in the library, and you were there reading next to me. And I don't know what it was—maybe it was something about the curve of your throat, or your hair in the candlelight, or the way you looked so content and serene—I don't know, but for some reason I remember it perfectly. And I remember thinking that I had never seen anything or anyone so beautiful. I think that was when I knew."

"By beautiful, you mean roguishly handsome, right?" Even though Draco's tone was mocking, his stomach was fluttering like a damn school girl's. And for some reason, in that moment, Harry's hand felt more real than anything he had ever felt in his life.

"Draco?"

Draco hadn't realized his eyes had dropped until he raised them back up to meet Harry's. And he wished with all his heart that Harry wouldn't look at him like that—like he was perfect. How could he possibly leave again when he'd finally seen that look? How could he possibly bring himself to break the heart he was trying to save?

"You know that I love you, don't you?"

The tears that filled the blonde's eyes were sudden and unbidden. He blinked them away, but not before one spilled down over his cheek.

Harry just smiled. "I love you, Draco. For always."

"Forever."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"Harry," Draco breathed, somewhere in the darkness of his bedroom. The other boy was currently pressed up against him, his mouth hot on Draco's neck, and the smell of wine hanging thickly in the air. The blonde knew his bed was close, but he couldn't for the life of him think clearly enough to lead them there—not with Harry's hands on him, touching him _there_.

"Draco," Harry said his name like it was something sacred. Teeth grazed tightened skin over Draco's Adam's apple, and his very blood seemed to tremble with excitement. "I love you. Merlin, I love you so much." He said the words over and over again—repeating them like a mantra. It was like all that time he'd held the words back, and now they were pouring out all at once. And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just the fact that they hadn't been together like this in so long. Whatever it was, Draco didn't really care. All he cared about was undoing the last buttons of Harry's shirt so that he could taste the skin beneath.

Harry sighed contentedly into Draco's neck as his shirt was pushed back over his shoulders, falling to the floor with a muffled whisper of cloth. Draco's hands seemed to have a mind of their own after that, roaming over the rippling planes of Harry's chest and abdomen, pulling him in so close that both of them could hardly breathe. There would never be anything that compared to feeling the beat of Harry's heart against his chest, and soaking in the luscious heat of his skin.

"Draco?" Harry pulled back slightly. Alcohol bubbled up his throat in the form of a nervous laugh. "Will you do something for me?"

The blonde stared at the other boy—at his hair, looking like spilt ink glistening in the light of the moon, at his smile, which was slightly lopsided and seemed to permeate his entire being, at his eyes, shining so brightly with love, and had no choice but to answer, "Anything."

"Will you sing for me?"

Draco blinked. "Sing?"

Harry nodded tentatively, leaning back into him. "I heard you sing once—I liked it. Please?" Harry placed a small chaste kiss in the dip of the Slytherin's shoulder.

"What would you like me to sing?" He wasn't even sure that he could when his body was so alight with Harry's touch.

"Anything. I don't care. I just want to hear you."

"I—alright." Draco cleared his throat, his stomach fluttering with a nervousness that was completely foreign to him. He opened his mouth, hoping a sound would come out—

_ Life's too short to even care at all, oh,_

_ I'm coming up now, coming up now out of the blue_

_ These zombies in the park, they're looking for my heart oh_

_ A dark world aches for a splash of the sun._

Draco could feel Harry's body moving gently against him as he breathed in and back out again. His breath tickled the blonde's skin, sending shivers down his spine and making his voice tremble.

_If I could find a way to see this straight_

_ I'd run away to some fortune that I should have found by now_

_ And so I run now to the things they said would restore me_

_ Restore life, the way it should be_

_ I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come do—_

He was cut off by the Gryffindor's hand wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Draco couldn't help the pleased moan that rushed up his throat. He grabbed Harry's hips tightly as he deepened the kiss. Merlin, but it was the best thing he had ever tasted—red wine and a bursting citrus. Draco could still smell the wind in his hair and feel the warm glow of the sun on his skin. And it dawned on him that this might be the last time they were ever together like this—that this might be the last time that he could smell and touch and taste and feel everything that Harry was. Tomorrow he was leaving…and there was a chance that he might not come back.

He remembered this feeling—remembered it like he remembered the pain of an old wound freshly reopened. The excruciating agony of it all was coming back to him. Leaving Harry once had been hard, but at least back then he had been able to tell himself that it was for the best—that Ginny would be able to make Harry happier than he ever could. Now, he didn't have an excuse. He was jeopardizing their present by trying to save their future—or rather, trying to save himself. Selfish. That was all it was. All he was. He wanted Harry, and he didn't care what he had to do, or who he had to hurt to get him.

Truly, he was a Slytherin down to his very core.

"Draco?" Harry whispered softly. "Why are you crying?"

Draco started. "I'm not—" and then he felt the cool night air brush across his wet cheeks. Harry kissed him again, more gently this time.

"Come on," he said, taking both of Draco's hands in his own. "Let's go to bed."

The blonde's feet seemed to glide over the floor as Harry led him farther back into the dark room. He didn't know how the other boy could see in the blackness, but his steps never once faltered with uncertainty. The next thing Draco knew, Harry was pushing him back onto his bed. They both fell to the mattress together, their breaths coming in short baited pants. Harry rolled them so that Draco was lying on top, their legs tangled together. The Slytherin place his hands on either side of Harry's shoulders, hovering just high enough so that he could see the barest outline of his face. He kept himself very still for a long moment, because he knew whatever happened next would be over way too soon.

"What is it?" Harry asked, and Draco could tell he was smiling.

Something ignited in Draco's chest then, warmer and fuller than anything he had ever experienced—like a balloon was pressing against his ribcage and he was about to float away. "Nothing," he said breathlessly. "Just thinking about how perfect you are."

Harry giggled. "You're so cheesy."

"Maybe," Draco shrugged, smirking. "But you like it."

"What I'd like is for these to come off." Harry tugged suggestively at Draco's trousers.

"Well," the blonde dipped his head forward, just barely brushing his lips against the Gryffindor's, "I never could deny you anything…"

Unable to hold back any longer, he sank into Harry's lips, his body arching into the warmth he so deeply craved. Hands flew everywhere, tearing at belts, pulling at buttons, and ripping at zippers, until they were able to ruck off the layers of cloth that separated them. They both gasped against each other as skin met skin, and Draco's heart was beating so hard that it hurt. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he could barely breathe for the feeling of Harry writhing beneath him.

Their lips moved heatedly as Draco pressed Harry down into the mattress. The other boy enveloped him, his nails scratching fire down his back, his chest rising and falling feverishly, and his legs wrapping around Draco's to pull him in even closer.

Harry broke their kiss with a keening moan as the blonde thrust their hips together. "Draco," he panted. "I—nngh—Merlin…" He trailed off with a meaningless string of words and sounds, his breath hot on Draco's ear.

Draco brought their bodies together again and again and again, until they were slick with sweat and their muscles were quivering from a heady mixture of strain and need. The Slytherin moved slowly, languidly bringing them so close to the edge they could both taste it before pulling them back again. He didn't want it to end—not when Harry's skin tasted so sweet beneath his tongue, and the world around them had fallen away into nothingness.

"Draco, I can't—I," Harry broke off when Draco slid against him once more. "Please, Draco. Merlin, please, I can't take it anymore."

"Harry…"

"Please, Draco."

The sound of Harry coming undone made his head foggy with desire. He pressed his lips into Harry's neck, teeth grazing along the skin there as his hand slid down the Gryffindor's torso and between his legs. He didn't know when he had cast the spell, but he was glad that Harry was already slick when he pressed in, because he knew he would never been able to summon enough concentration to cast it now. His world had devolved into the boy that lay sprawled out beneath him and the feeling of burning words caressing his ears.

Harry threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut and his hair clinging wetly to his forehead. There was a low rumble growing in the back of his throat—Draco could feel it against his lips—but he wanted more.

Unhesitatingly, the blonde stretched him further, sliding his fingers and curling them so as to draw more of those sounds out of Harry's throat. He didn't know why Harry's voice drove him mad, but it did. It vibrated along Draco's nerves and shook him to his very core, and—Merlin—he was so warm…

Harry moaned, rocking his hips into Draco's movement. "Draco—ah!—Please, I'm ready. Just—"

Draco pulled his hand away, hearing Harry's gasp as much as feeling it. He poised himself over Harry, all trembling arms and hot breaths. And then he slammed into Harry like he wanted to split him in two—and maybe he did. He didn't know what he wanted—only that it was more of this and here and now.

Harry clung to him desperately, his voice echoing around the room every time Draco crashed into him. He could feel something coiling between them like the suppression of a spring. Closer and closer they pulled into each other, until all of Draco's senses were so saturated with everything that was Harry that he could barely even feel himself anymore. He was falling apart, cracking at the foundations and threatening to fall, but Harry held him tight, whispering his name in his ear and bleeding warmth into his blood.

"Draco—I can't—I'm going to—"

"Stay with me, Harry," Draco breathed. "Stay with me." He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stars that danced along the black and trying to pour everything he had and everything he was into this one moment. Because it was all there was, and maybe all there would ever be. And it was electric, and hard, and burning, and perfect.

But in the end, he could only hold himself back for so long. His pleasure built, cresting along the undulating wave of Harry's body, and he fell from it with a scream. Harry moved then, pulling him impossibly deeper and came with Draco's name like a stain on his lips.

They collapsed against each other then, breathing deeply and trying to keep the spinning reality of the world around them at bay. It came back upon them too soon—the feeling of the soft silken sheets beneath their legs, and the eerie whirring of an oncoming storm whipping through the trees.

Harry's arm curled so that his fingers could glide through Draco's hair. "I love you," he murmured.

Draco inhaled and pressed his face into the small of Harry's shoulder as silent tears slipped down his cheeks. "I love you too."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Well that was long huh? Hopefully it made up for the long wait! The next chapter is actually well on it's way to being done soooooo expect it soon!<p>

**Please review if you're happy that Harry finally told Draco he loved him! (God knows I was...)**


	17. What If the Storm Ends

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Ugh...sorry for the delay...technical difficulties and work do not make for a good combination X3 But here it is at last...I hope you're prepared.

My beta is, of course, **ThexBlairxWitch**, and really...she's great. Bloody fantastic. I don't know how I got so lucky!

* * *

><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_What if the storm ends and I don't see you_

_As you are now ever again?_

_The perfect halo of gold hair and lightning_

_Sets you off against the planet's last dance_

_Just for a minute the silver-forked sky_

_Lifts you up like a star that I will follow_

_But now it's found us like I have found you_

_I don't wanna run, just overwhelm me_

_What if the storm ends? _

_At least that's nothing except a memory_

_A distant echo I won't pin down_

_I've walked unsettled rattle cage after cage_

_Until my blood boils_

-Snow Patrol

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

><p>The entryway of number twelve Grimmauld Place was unnaturally dark, only sparingly touched by the small slivers of moonlight shining through the boarded windows. Draco looked around, his nerves buzzing with some trepidation he couldn't name. Dust hung heavily in the air, and the house held tight to a dead silence. The blonde stepped forward, wincing as the floorboards creaked with protest under his feet. He gazed up the stairwell, his ears prickling in their strain to hear a sound.<p>

"Harry?" he called.

There was nothing—not the muffled din of a footstep nor the lull of a breath.

"Draco?" It wasn't even a whisper, but Draco could hear it like he could feel the own beating of his own heart. "Draco?" Draco. Draco. Draco.

"Harry?" But it didn't sound like Harry. It was coming from farther down the hall—from the drawing room.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

He knew that voice. He knew it like he knew his own reflection, and yet he couldn't seem to place it. It was like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue that he just couldn't say.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

It drew him down the hall, as if pulling him forward by some invisible string. Time seemed to list, and suddenly the door was in front of him, tall and dark and looming. He stared at it, feeling his heart quiver in his chest.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

It was louder now, pounding a rhythm against the inside of his skull. Slowly, yet with a certain desperation, he reached for the doorknob. Strangely it felt neither warm nor cold beneath his hand, only hard and pulsing. He turned it and pushed the door open.

A gasp got caught in his throat halfway up. His entire body went still—every muscle freezing and rooting him to the floor. The room was covered from floor to ceiling with papers, pinned there with pointed tacks that glinted like silver stars in the faint light. Connecting them all was the same web of red strings he'd seen in the room before, except now they were wet and dripping. And there in the middle of it all was Harry, kneeling in the only visible space of floor in the room. His eyes lifted as the door swung open, and Draco felt like he wanted to retch. Those emerald orbs stared at him, burning with anger.

"Draco," Harry hissed, in a voice that wasn't his own, and the strings around him vibrated, causing droplets to spring from their holdings and fly through the air. They landed on the paper with a light pattering sound that sent a shiver down Draco's spine. Then something drew his eye: one of the droplets that fell near his feet was bleeding crimson into the paper.

His eyes flew over the room, growing wide as they traced over the pools of red forming where the droplets had fallen. Then the smell hit him. Blood. Bitter and biting in the back of his throat.

"Draco," Harry repeated, his eyes still burning. His hand lifted, and there was a flash of metal in the dark.

"Harry!" The Slytherin lurched forward, only to have the room twist beneath him. And suddenly he was falling, careening down towards the web of blood and string. He threw his arms out in front of him, his stomach pressing back against his spine and—

Draco bolted upright, his eyes flying open and a scream ripping through his lips. He gazed around frantically, and saw the dark stillness of his bedroom surrounding him.

"Draco?"

The blonde jumped at the sound of Harry's quiet voice next to him. He turned to look down at the other boy, shirtless and tangled in the sheets. Reaching out, Draco placed a hand against Harry's arm, reassuring himself that the warmth he felt was real.

"Are you alright?" the Gryffindor mumbled the question tiredly.

"I—" Draco frowned, his brow furrowed. "Of course. Just a bad dream."

Harry hummed, moving to take Draco's hand in his own. "I'm here. You don't have to be scared."

Scared? Was that what this feeling was? Draco wasn't quite sure.

"Come here." Harry tugged on Draco's hand, pulling him down into a warm embrace. Draco curled into it, soaking in the heat of the other boy's body. Harry kissed his temple gently and stroked his hair while murmuring indistinguishable words filled with comfort. But for once the words didn't reach Draco's ears. His mind was elsewhere—honed in on the drawer in the study where the Time Turner lay, waiting.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"So you're really going to do this?"

Draco started, his heart flying into this throat. He spun to see the demon standing before him, wearing a strangely grave expression. Where was he? Where—and then he noticed the Time Turner in his hand, his thumb and forefinger already pinching the knob. He stared down at it for a long moment, wondering when he had come downstairs to retrieve it. And when he had changed into his traveling robes.

The cool ashen light pouring in from the closest window informed him that it was either really late, or really early. Either way Harry would still be sleeping, so he supposed it didn't make much of a difference. Though…he did wish he could remember what Harry had looked like just before he left. He'd probably been beautiful—with his face so serene and his lips slightly parted and begging to be kissed.

He looked back up at the demon. "Why shouldn't I?"

The demon's eyes flickered down to the Time Turner for the briefest of moments. "You really don't know a lost cause when you see it, do you?"

"What do—"

"This is a fight you cannot win, Draco. Not with plans, or cunning, or magic, and certainly not with a Time Turner. You need to stop this."

"I don't recall you having any authority to tell me what or what not to do."

The demon snarled, his teeth flashing. "Maybe not, but I gave you a gift and you're squandering it!"

"What you gave me wasn't a gift, it was a curse!" As soon as the words were out, Draco snapped his mouth shut. He hadn't—he hadn't meant…

"Leave then," the demon said, his voice low and rumbling, "and put an end to it." And then, in a blink, he was gone.

Draco stared at the empty space in front of him, and a wave of chills danced from his wrists up to the base of his neck. The Time Turner felt oddly heavy and real in his hands, and he was vaguely aware that he could feel the grooves of the knob pressing painfully into his fingertips. All he had to do was release the knob and there was a chance this could all be over. There was a chance that he could have Harry forever.

And Harry…wasn't Harry a chance worth taking?

Draco took in a deep breath and held it, and released the knob. The world seemed to collapse around him, and with a painful lurching in his chest he was hurled forward into blackness. His feet hit concrete with a loud crackling thud, and before he could even open his eyes he was walking forward.

Blinking dazedly through the dim haze, the blonde was surprised to find himself tailing a tall man in a grey and red uniform. They were walking down a long dark hallway made entirely of unpolished stone, and the smell of salt clung wetly to the walls and ceiling. This wasn't Malfoy Manor, and it certainly wasn't Grimmauld Place. It was cold here—unnaturally cold for the time of year it should have been, and there was a despair hanging in the air that made it thick and hard to breathe. The blonde could feel his bones beginning to rattle beneath his skin as a stagnant thought started forming in the back of his mind. He remembered this feeling…

"Sir—"

"Hush!" the uniformed man snapped, turning back only for a moment to shoot a glare at Draco. "You'll rouse the other inmates."

Inmates? Then it hit him, like a gut-wrenching punch in the stomach. Azkaban. They were in _Azkaban_. But what were they—

"Here you are," the guard said gruffly, jamming a key into a wooden door to their right and yanking it open. "You have ten minutes."

Before Draco could even think to reply he was shoved unceremoniously through the door and into a damp, dimly lit room. The door slammed behind him with a resounding crash. Then everything was still, and a haunting quiet washed over him. He couldn't even hear the sound of his own breath.

"Draco?"

The croaking voice had the hackles on the back of Draco's neck standing on end. The Slytherin spun to see a row of rusted bars halving the room, and on the other side sat the shriveled huddled form of Harry Potter. He rose shakily to his feet, stumbling towards the bars. Draco stepped back reflexively, drawing his robes tighter against his body, his pulse pounding against the base of his throat.

Harry was dressed in dirty tattered rags that reeked of sweat and blood, and his skin was caked with layers of grime and filth. His glasses were badly cracked, so much so that it was a wonder he could see out of them at all. The shadow of the once proud Gryffindor pressed his face into the small gap between two bars.

"Draco?" he whispered, like he hadn't spoken in years. "Is that really you?"

Draco swallowed thickly, the need to retch very nearly choking him. "I should be asking you the same question."

"It is you. I'm glad." Harry laughed then—a harsh cracked sound. "And this is me." He ran his fingers up and down the bars. "Whatever bit of me the Dementors have left at least."

"Why are you—" Draco paused to swallow again. "Why are you here? I don't—I don't understand."

"Because I killed them," Harry answered bluntly.

The very ground seemed to shift beneath the blonde's feet. "You what?" he whispered. The air he breathed seemed suddenly stale and lifeless in his lungs.

"I killed them," Harry flashed a manic smile, that same broken laugh spilling over his lips one more. "All of them—every last one I could get my hands on."

"Harry, stop." Draco shook his head, almost frantically. "You didn't kill anyone. You couldn't—"

"I needed blood—so much blood, you see—and my life was over, so why shouldn't theirs be? Their lives were mine anyway weren't they? I saved them, didn't I? They were _mine_. So I took them." Tears began spilling hotly down Harry's cheeks, but he was still laughing. "But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. I tried so many different ways—"

"Stop it!" The Slytherin stumbled backwards, his stomach threatening to turn inside out. This was too much. He needed to gather himself. He needed information. He needed—

"I tried to stop it, Draco. _I tried_. Nothing I did ever worked. And all around me there were people drifting around in comfortable, undisturbed complacency, and they were _happy_ and they've been happy for years while I was in hell, and I knew them. I _knew _them, Draco. They were miserable people—petty grinding, little people just like everyone else is. And I tried to stop it, and to stop them—for you—but I couldn't. Draco…" Harry reached through the bars, his muddied hand stretching forward, groping for Draco's touch. "Please."

Draco stared at the other boy's hand, feeling his insides shudder with fear and repulsion. "Harry," he said slowly, forcing the words to form over his dried tongue, "you have to tell me how to stop the demon. You have to _tell me_."

"There's nothing, don't you understand? Nothing!" Harry practically slammed himself up against the bars, and the metal rang, low and deep, with a sound that rattled Draco's bones.

The blonde chanced a step closer. "That's not true! There has to be something! That book you showed me—"

"The spell requires something equivalent! A soul for a soul, a life for a life—that's what I thought! But that's not how it is! There's nothing equivalent!"

"To what?"

"To you!" Suddenly, Draco felt a pull on his robes as Harry's fingers found the fabric. With a jolt, he was wrenched forward and pinned against the bars, the other boy's rancid breath hot on his face. Draco clawed at the hand that held him, but Harry's grip was like iron. "What are you anyway, huh?" Harry snarled, his other hand moving to wrap around the blonde's neck. "Draco is _dead_, so what are you?"

"Harry—" Draco was cut off as Harry's fingers tightened around his windpipe. Fear, cold and biting, began to clamp down on Draco's consciousness. He gasped for air even as his fingers desperately tried to free him from the other boy's hold. His feet kicked at the bars, and his body thrashed, and all around there was the sound of clanging metal.

"You're the one who did this to me! You're the reason I'm here! Why couldn't you just stay dead!?" Harry shook him hard, and Draco's head hit the bars with enough force to turn his vision black. "You deserve to be dead!"

He couldn't breathe, and Harry was laughing again.

"But you'll be dead soon, won't you? Merlin, I hope it hurts. I hope you scream and I hope I'll be able to hear it in my dreams. I hope your soul gets dragged down to the deepest caverns of hell where it belongs, and they rip you to pieces over and over again until you can't even remember what it was like to be whole. You, with the mind of a serpent, and a heart consumed by a lion, and the blood of your parents on your hands."

That passage—he _knew_ that passage. But how did Harry—"Ah!" he couldn't help but cry out in pain as Harry's nails broke through his skin. Draco could feel his own blood slithering down his neck, hot and tickling.

The cell walls shuddered with an angry hiss.

"You should've let Tom kill me all those years ago. Then maybe…we could've avoided all of this…"

Everything was beginning to fade into darkness—the edges of his vision hazing until the only thing he could see clearly was Harry's face through the bars.

"But I guess, in the end…you were always the weak one."

The world lurched, and Draco felt himself slip from Harry's grasp. He was falling, down, down, and there was nothing around him but black emptiness. He was falling, and somehow he knew there was no ground to catch him.

"Draco!"

Draco's eyes flew open, and his lungs filled themselves with a painful gasp. Immediately he knew three things: first, that his wrists were bound and above his head to a cold stone wall, second, that his entire body was alive with pain, and third, that he was in the dungeons of Malfoy Manner. He knew the latter only because he was intimately familiar with the smell—fear and blood. No other dungeon he'd ever entered before or since had quite been able to match it, and his father had once told him that this was because no other dungeon in England had seen half as much of either. If Draco hadn't believed him then, he certainly did now.

"Hel—" his voice died out in a helpless croak as the familiar taste of bile surged up his throat. The blonde coughed against his dry tongue, but every drop of moisture he conjured seemed to evaporate the moment it was formed. Merlin he hurt—every last inch of his skin seemed to be burning like he'd been dipped in acid. He wanted to scream, and knowing he couldn't seemed to make it worse.

"So," a cool voice growled, "you're awake then." In a flash Harry was in front of him, his green eyes reflecting a sharp fury. One of his hands moved up to wind around Draco's neck, and the Slytherin found himself pressed back against the wall in his attempt to escape the touch. "Good. Here."

Harry's other hand moved, and suddenly Draco felt the mouth of a bottle against his lips. Water, biting and ice cold, slid down his throat and spilled wetly over the corners of his mouth.

"You know it's funny," Harry continued, still pouring the water and not bothering to pause to give Draco a moment to breathe, "I've been having visions about you for a long time now—and, you know, I don't think I ever once really bothered to ask _why_. Kind of strange, don't you think?"

At this, Harry pulled the bottle away from Draco's lips. The blonde sputtered messily in his effort to pull oxygen into his lungs. "H—Harry," he gasped. "Please…"

"I _said_, don't you think it's strange?"

"Harry, I never meant to—"

"—Never meant to what? Invade my privacy? Alter my perceptions? Treat me like an idiot?" Harry hissed, his teeth clenched and bared. He leaned in close, his nails curling unforgivingly into the small of Draco's neck. "You may be very good at mind magic, Draco, but you've taken it a step too far this time. Nearly six months you were gone, and I'm not the fool you seem to think I am. Now, _tell me where it is_."

"Where what is?" the blonde asked weakly. So he'd been gone six months this time? Then it was over. _Everything_ was over.

"The object."

Draco shook his head, and the muscles in his neck protested the movement with stinging licks of electric pain. "The Time Turner? Harry, it doesn't matter anymore, I'm already out of time—"

"No. No!" Harry flung the bottle across the cell, and Draco's ears thrummed with the sound of shattering glass. "The object! The object you used for the spell! Tell me where it is!"

The Slytherin flinched as Harry's hand collided with the wall just beside his left cheek before moving down grab at the exposed skin on his shoulder. He stared at Harry, his heart pounding and his body singing with agony. He'd never seen such a frantic anger in the other boy's eyes before. Whatever had happened in those six months—"I told you, it's a Time Turner," he replied with some difficulty. "I've been using it to go forward."

Harry's expression faltered for a moment before a sharp bark of laughter crossed his lips. "Is that what you think you've been doing?"

There was a beat of stunned silence. "What I _think_ I've been doing?" Draco snapped incredulously, trying his best not to wince as his voice tore through his sore throat.

"Yes," Harry replied with equal vehemence. His nails had already pierced the thin layer of skin and were now wet with blood. "_Think_. So while you're still fucking coherent, I need you to tell me where it is!"

"Around my neck!" Draco yelled. "It's around my fucking neck."

Scrambling, Harry's fingers dropped to work at the fabric of Draco's robes. Finding the chain, he pulled the Time Turner out from under Draco's shirt. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the trinket, muttering words so fast under his breath that Draco wondered if he was really speaking at all. When nothing happened, Harry uttered another string of breathless words. Then, his face went cold.

"This isn't it," he said, dropping the Time Turner back against Draco's chest. It hit his sternum with a painful thump.

Draco stared at the other boy with wide eyes. "What do you mean? Of course that's it."

"It's not!" Harry screamed so furiously that the air around them seemed to tremble. Draco could feel magic seeping out of Harry's very pores.

"Harry…" the Slytherin said slowly, his veins rushing with adrenaline. "Unlock me."

The other boy snarled. "What? So you can run off again?"

"I won't run—"

"Funny, I seem to have heard that somewhere before!"

"What the hell has gotten in to you?" Draco struggled to pull away once more, fear and anger wrapping around his heart like Devil's Snare.

"Me? Me! I'm trying to save _your_ life!"

Draco blanched, his entire body going stiff. "I—you know about the demon?"

"The—" Harry's brow furrowed, "—demon? What in the world are you talking about?"

"I…" The Slytherin struggled, not knowing what to say. So Harry didn't know? Not that there was much point in hiding it anymore. He was already as good as dead. Whatever it was that Harry thought he was saving Draco from didn't make the slightest difference.

"Is that what you think is going on here? A demon?" Harry asked, breaking through his thoughts.

The Slytherin pursed his lips. "And again with the word _think_—"

"Draco," Harry interrupted sternly. "Demon's don't exist."

Draco growled, and his chest rumbled with the sound. "I don't know exactly what you think you're doing here, or why the hell you have me locked up, but I'll not have you talk down to me like I'm some child! I don't give a fuck if you're angry with me, or if you believe that demons are real or not, because soon it won't even matter anymore! I'll be dead! So go off and be mad if you want, but don't stay here and spoil my final hours with this tiresome shit!"

Harry threw himself back from Draco's body with a furious scream. "Merlin, I don't have time for this! TELL ME WHERE IT IS!"

"How can I tell you when I don't even know what _IT_ is!"

"The hell you don't! You used it to perform the spell to give me my memories back!" Harry gestured wildly, pacing around the small cell in furious circles. "You had to have known that spell inside and out—you had to have been meticulous about what you chose. Don't think I don't know you. You wouldn't just attempt a spell like that on a whim!"

"Harry, stop!" Draco tugged against his bindings helplessly. "You don't understand—"

"No! _You_ don't understand! You left me here! You left me after you fucking promised—you promised! And you've missed everything! You've been gone for months, and I'm so mad at you that I can't even see straight!" Harry charged him again, both his hands sliding up Draco's neck into his hair, and his voice dropping into a whisper so full of pain that it was almost a whimper. "Why did you do it? Why, Draco? Why did you risk so much just to give me my memories back?"

Draco stared at the other boy, wishing with all his might that he could look away. Because it hurt—it hurt like someone was reaching way down deep inside him and choking the life out of his heart. He'd never before seen such pain in Harry's eyes. _Never_. Not even when he'd found out that the Slytherin had betrayed him in exchange for his father's life. That had been horrible, true. Draco remembered seeing Harry's spirit wither before his eyes, but even then his resolve had held strong. He hadn't lost himself in the hopelessness—Draco had still been able to find courage in that burning emerald gaze. Now there was nothing. The light behind his eyes had been blown out like a candle in the wind, and had left nothing but darkness in its wake. He couldn't stand to see that dead look in Harry's eyes—he couldn't stand to think about what it meant. There was a black void in Harry's soul where life had once been, open and gaping and grasping at Draco's ankles trying to pull him down.

The blonde swallowed against his dry throat, wincing as his skin seemed to split apart with the action. "I'd made a mistake. I thought I could live without you…but I couldn't. What else what was I supposed to do?"

"You thought…" Harry blinked, seeming to lose himself in his own thoughts. "You thought I wouldn't love you without them?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I would! How could you not know that? How could you—"

"Harry?" A high-pitched voice echoed down the hall, causing both boys to jump. Draco hadn't realized how close the Gryffindor had been standing until he had pushed away. The air felt suddenly cold as it passed through his lips and over his tongue.

"Ginny?" Harry called back, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

"Did he tell you where it is?"

Harry's eyes found Draco's once more, and there was no doubt in the blonde's mind that he was overly aware of the perfect irony of the situation—the three of them all together like this again with everything turned in on itself. Mouth pressing into a hard thin line, Harry tore his eyes away and yelled back, "No."

Distantly, the blonde heard Ginny sigh. "Come on then. If he hasn't told you by now then I doubt he will. We'll have better luck if we keep looking ourselves."

Harry took an obedient step back, and for some reason that step filled Draco's heart with a black panic. The smell of the dungeon was too strong, and every breath blanketed his heart with terror. He pulled against the metal shackles, so forcefully that he could feel the bones in his shoulders coming unhinged and the flesh on his back splitting. "Harry, no, please! I didn't mean it—don't leave me down here!"

The Gryffindor's eyes narrowed. "Then you'll tell me where it is?"

Tears, hot and wet, began filling Draco's eyes. "Harry I don't know—Merlin—I don't know! You can't do this to me!"

"I'm not doing this _to _you, I'm doing it _for_ you!" For a moment he shifted, his body leaning in towards the blonde but his foot refusing to rise to make the step. "You'll understand soon enough."

"Harry, you have to let me go!"

Harry looked at him then—really looked at him—and it was as if all the other times he'd been viewing the boy through an opaque glass. But now the glass was sharp and clear, and Draco could see every part of him, down to the last fiber of the last sinew of his being. And he was broken, and defeated, and there wasn't a shred of hope left to hold him together anymore, but there was one thing left that Draco knew only he could see, because it something that was meant only for him. And that was love. It was faint, like the flame holding on to the last millimeter of wick on a dying candle, but it was there, and it was real. That one look tore at Draco's soul like no look of betrayal or hatred never could. Because it meant that he had failed, in the most complete way possible.

"It's going to be alright, Draco," Harry said, stepping farther back into the darkness of the hall.

"Harry…don't leave."

"I'm going to be the one to save you this time. You'll see."

Draco's head fell limp and his knees refused to hold up the weight of his body any longer. Harry never had been good at lying…

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><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Oooooooh twists? Intrigue? Have you figured it out yet? :) I'm sure you have, you smart reader you. Climax is coming up next...and it's gonna be a long one!<p>

**Please review! Also...would you like the next chapter to be posted in one long (probably 10,000 word) part, or in two parts? I only ask because the first part is all pretty and done and could be posted soon...but you may not want to endure another cliffhanger lol. Let me know!**


	18. Where the Heart Is

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and violence.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Well...you asked for it! All the fun and angst and climactic climaxy climaxness you could want, all wrapped up in one exciting chapter! Reader be warned...there be drama ahead

Please send all your love, cookies, sparkles and rainbows to **ThexBlairxWitch**.She worked really hard on this chapter (maybe even harder than me...), and is basically the person who made this story readable. Naturally, all mistakes are my own!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_This is the end_

_Hold your breath and count to ten_

_Feel the earth move and then_

_Hear my heart burst again_

_For this is the end_

_I've drowned and dreamt this moment_

_So overdue, I owe them_

_Swept away, I'm stolen_

_Let the sky fall_

_When it crumbles we will stand tall_

_And face it all together_

-Adele

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>"It's time."<p>

Draco gasped, the sound of the voice pulling him from the troubled nightmares he'd been straining to fall in to. He raised his head and winced at the sharp pains that lanced down the muscles of his neck and back. The demon was standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest with a smile that was knife-bright. Faint candlelight brushed over his form, outlining his silhouette in a soft yellow glow, and making his skin look deceptively warm. But Draco knew just how cold that skin burned.

"Are you ready?" the demon asked, his voice rising and falling with titillated notes of ecstasy.

Draco struggled to pull himself up to his feet, but his shoulders were singing with agony, and his legs refused to hold him. Instead he slumped back against the wall, desperately trying to calm the burst of fear that had just shot through his veins. "Is anybody ever ready?" His words sounded hoarse and cracked.

The demon shrugged elegantly. "Would it make a difference if they were?"

"I suppose not." So this was it, then. This was where it would all end—here, down in the darkest depths of his own house, in the place where so many others had died. He reflected that it could've been much worse. Harry could've been here to see. He hoped that the other boy was somewhere far away from the dungeons, curled up asleep, warm and beautiful with the cool night air caressing his cheek. He hoped that Harry would never have to know the horrible truth of what would happen here tonight—he hoped that he could at least be spared that one pain.

"Aren't you going to beg me?"

Draco raised a pale brow, unable to keep a sardonic smirk from pulling at his lips. "Would it make a difference if I did?"

After a moment, the demon smiled. "I suppose not."

There was a poignant pause, and the silence was so complete it seemed to roar in Draco's ears. "It…is done though, right?"

The demon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I want to know that this will be the end of it—that there isn't any chance of…a loop."

"Ah, that's very clever of you, Draco." His eyes brightened, flashing like two diamonds in the sun. "You're talking about a time loop. You're worried that Harry could share the same fate as the one you saw."

It hadn't been phrased as a question, so the blonde kept his mouth shut. He knew his voice would betray a waver if he tried to speak now. Of course he was worried. How could he not be? For hours that had each seemed longer than an eternity he had reflected on the final image of Harry that he'd seen—face covered in blood and grime, with fingers so cold they might have been made of ice. He couldn't let Harry end up like that, not because of him. Such destruction…he'd never meant to—

"You're worried he really is going to crack after you die—the way you cracked when he—"

"I did _not_ crack," Draco hissed, unable to help himself. "And of course I'm worried. Something like that—it's not supposed to happen to him."

The demon chuckled, half to himself. "It's funny isn't it? The difference between the things we mean to happen and the way they actually are. That's why you witches and wizards are the most entertaining of prey. You lot, with your sparkling tricks and your sleights of hand, you really think you're above all of it, don't you? You think you can control and manipulate your way through every little problem that life throws at you. Well," and in a blink the demon's face was barely an inch from his own, "I guess that makes me life's retribution, doesn't it."

Draco sucked in his breath and held it. Every inch of his skin was prickling, like it was being teased with the tips of pins and needles. The demon raised his hand, and Draco wanted to shut his eyes but he couldn't. He couldn't pull them away from the fathomless pools of black. This was it—the final moment. And for the life of him he couldn't think about anything other than the cold terror laced around his heart. He should be thinking about Harry—picturing his face. Why couldn't he picture his face when it was right in front of him?

Then, the demon snapped his fingers, and the blonde's bindings fell to the floor with a loud metallic clang. Draco fell to the floor with them, his knees hitting the stone with an unforgiving force. He cried out as the demon pulled him up to his feet, his whole body aching as his muscles quivered in their effort to keep him upright.

"Come on," the demon said acerbically, hauling him forward towards the cell door. With a wave of his hand, the door burst open, and the sound rang down the hall like church bells.

Draco stumbled behind him, his left hand clinging to the demon's grip on his arm and using it as a crutch for balance. "Where are you taking me?" he managed to ask through bated gasps for air.

"To the link."

"The link?" They were nearing the end of the hall now, and the demon was lifting him up the stairs.

"Yes, yes, the link," the demon replied briskly. He threw the dungeon door open, and the smell of fresh air hit Draco's lungs like a tidal wave. "The thing that binds us together. Really, I don't understand the human mind at all. So tedious and dull. It really is a good thing your souls taste so good." He grinned madly, and Draco felt his stomach drop like a stone.

The link?

_The object! The object you used for the spell! Tell me where it is!_

Merlin—Draco swallowed—was that what Harry had been asking him for? But he had said that demons don't exist. The Slytherin had been so sure that Harry was wrong about the Time Turner, and that he'd just been too angry to see it. He'd been so sure…

"You never mentioned a link before."

The demon turned to raise a mocking brow. "Didn't mention it how? With words?"

Draco somehow mustered up enough gumption to glare. "How else is something mentioned?"

"Actions, my dear Draco. _Actions_. Actions speak so much louder than words, if one but takes the time to observe them. You never did have much time for observation though, did you." Laughing, the demon quickened his pace. They wound their way through the twists and turns of Malfoy Manor, floating along silent as ghosts. Distantly, Draco could hear the wind whistling through the trees outside, along with the rolling rumble of thunder. The sound shook him as it seemed to force his reality to the forefront of his mind. His feet hit the ground with an overly real weight, and the warm summer air coaxed droplets of sweat from his brow. He was a dead man walking.

Another left turn and another set of doors found them in his father's old study. Or, at least, that's where Draco thought they were. The room was nearly unrecognizable. Books were scattered haphazardly on the floors and tables, their pages open or bent or torn, and pieces of parchment hung about like ornaments decorated with random splotches of ink. Most of the chairs had been overturned, and the drawers of his father's desk were all pulled open, their contents still spilling out over the sides.

The demon released his grip on the blonde's arm, throwing him forward towards the desk. "Go on, then."

Draco stared back at him blankly, most of his concentration aimed at keeping himself from toppling over. His hand grasped for the desk's edge. "What are you talking about?"

"Get it," his eyes flickered down. "From the drawer there."

Draco's eyes followed the demon's line of sight to the top left-hand drawer. It was the one he had kept the Time Turner in. Slowly, he slid over to it, his hand dropping into the wooden opening. His fingers found the hidden latch, more out of habit than actual memory, and with a small flick the false board came loose and revealed the secret compartment. He slipped his hand in—"Ouch!"—and whipped it back out, staring hollowly down at the thin stream of blood that was currently slithering down his index finger. More carefully this time, he pushed his hand back into the drawer, and pulled out a knife. _The_ knife.

The knife that had killed Tom Riddle.

"Don't you remember?" the demon asked. "This is the part of the spell that you thought you had wrong. You needed some object to tie the magic to, but it couldn't be just anything. No, it had to be tainted—it had to be something that had touched the raw untethered power of darkness. And what greater dark power had you known in your short miserable life than Tom Marvolo Riddle? A shot in the dark, or so you thought, until I arrived."

Draco hummed, his eyes never leaving the glittering blade of the knife. He didn't remember. He didn't remember a lot of the things he'd thought and felt back then—they were too painful. "What do you need it for?"

"Oh, I won't be needing it for anything."

Maybe it was something about the drawled vowels, or maybe it was something about the inflection in the tone—whatever it was, it sent a sharp shiver straight down the Slytherin's spine. He dragged his gaze away from the knife to meet the demon's eyes once more. He was still grinning that same grin that his lips never seemed to tire of. The smile was so completely and unequivocally opposite of everything that Harry was that it seemed to transform the demon's face entirely. They looked nothing alike when he smiled like that, though their appearance matched down to the very last pore.

The demon glided across the space between them, his hands coming up to wrap themselves around Draco's wrists. The blonde's hold on the knife tightened. Then, slowly, the demon's left hand slid down the exposed skin of his forearm before darting underneath his elbow and tickling at the ridges of his ribcage. His hand slid upwards, and Draco was shaking. It finally came to a rest just over his heart.

"There's something I need _you_ to do," the demon hissed, and Draco saw that his pupils were blown wide as he sucked in a heady breath. The weight of his hand suddenly felt very heavy against the blonde's chest.

Draco clenched his teeth together.

The demon nodded. "You feel it, don't you? The hole," his fingers flexed against Draco's robes, "here. That deep dark hole that you can't escape. That's me—that's what I am. I need you to cut it out for me."

"Cut it—" Draco was cut off as the demon began pushing against his wrist with his free hand. The blade of the knife tilted back towards his chest, the point of it gleaming and achingly sharp.

"You owe me a debt, and I'm collecting. I want to taste your soul. I want to feel the heat of your blood on my hands."

The knife tilted further so that it was hovering just over the hand that was still firmly pressed against the Slytherin's chest, and then the blade slipped between the demon's fingers to dig against the cloth of Draco's robes. His pulse was beating like a hummingbird's wings, and he desperately wanted to move, to recoil from the demon's touch, but he couldn't. His entire body was frozen—suspended in that one moment with the knife positioned just over his heart.

"Draco!"

Reality seemed to shatter around him like glass. Draco started, blinking, a sudden warmth spreading through his limbs and allowing him to turn his head. And there was Harry, standing in the doorway and staring at him with wide green eyes. He was dressed in nothing but a thin grey t-shirt and jeans, both of which were wrinkled and stale as if they hadn't been removed in days, and his glasses were slightly askew—an obvious sign that he had fallen asleep with them on.

Harry took a step forward and the demon snarled. "Tell him to leave." A wave of static shook the air causing Harry to still. "Tell him!"

"I—" Draco's eyes moved helplessly between Harry and the demon, the knife still pressing against his chest. "Harry, you need to get out of here."

"Draco…" The Gryffindor's eyes dropped down to the knife, and his face went pale as ash. Before he could stop himself, Harry took another step forward, and Draco could practically feel the hackles on the back of the demon's neck rise. "Merlin, that's it, isn't it? Draco, please, you need to put the knife down."

"Tell him to _leave_!" As if to wordlessly reiterate the statement, the demon pressed the knife even harder into Draco's chest. The blonde could feel the metal pierce through the thin layers of fabric to brush at the skin underneath. He couldn't suppress the gasp that leapt up his throat.

"I can't." Draco winced as the blade sliced through his skin. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, just leave. The demon—" The knife pressed in further, and the blonde cried out in pain.

"Draco!"

The next series of events happened so quickly that Draco could hardly piece them together in the proper order. Harry started running towards him, but Draco's focus shifted as the demon's cold words slithered through his ears. "Find the heart, and cut it out." Then the demon's hands were gone and Draco was falling. All the oxygen was sucked out of his lungs at once, and it seemed half an age before his knees finally hit the ground, but when they did, Harry's arms were around him.

"Draco! Are you—" then something made Harry's voice catch in his throat. He felt the other boy shift against him. "What the—where the hell are we?"

Still attempting to pull air back into his lungs, Draco blinked against the black stars dancing across his vision. But when his vision finally cleared, he immediately began gasping for breath again. How in the world—

"Is this—is this Grimmauld Place?"

Draco didn't respond, if only because he was sure that Harry already knew the answer. It was Grimmauld Place, though not the version of it that Harry likely remembered. They were kneeling in the center of the drawing room, though if it hadn't been for the portrait of the Black family that still hung on the far wall, Draco wasn't sure he would've recognized it himself. The wallpaper fell in thin curling peels as if the walls had been scratched by some gigantic beast, and the furniture and floor was in little better condition, as the wood was dank and warped and smelled heavily of wood-rot. As Draco scanned the room, his cousin Walburga stared down at him, her eyes as black as they were unhinged. Shuddering, the blonde moved his gaze back to Harry.

The Gryffindor's jaw was set and his eyes bright and alert as he took in his surroundings. He looked so strong in that moment, all heightened senses and protective warmth.

"Harry?"

Nearly starting, Harry looked at him, and when their eyes connected the world around them seemed to fade slightly. "Draco," he said slowly, "what's going on?"

Draco's fingers curled into the fabric of Harry's t-shirt. "The demon…Harry, I tried to tell you…"

"The demon," Harry repeated blankly, his eyes already moving again to search the room.

"He…he must've sent us here." Why, though, Draco didn't know. He had thought the demon would just kill him and be done with it. So why was he here? And why was Harry here with him?

Sighing heavily, the other boy shook his head. "You really are an idiot, you know that?" Then, in a flickering moment, Harry's features sharpened. "Get up." And before even waiting for a reply, Harry was pulling Draco to his feet and dragging him across the room. The Slytherin made to resist, but strangely enough his legs held firm as they moved beneath him. As a matter of fact, moving didn't seem to hurt anymore at all. Surprise was enough to keep Draco's mouth shut before they stopped in front of a thin red string that stretched from one end of the room to the other.

Draco stared at it, a tickling sensation flittering in the back of his mind. _Find the heart, and cut it out_. The heart? What was the heart? And how was he supposed to—Draco reached down with his free hand, but both his pockets were empty. His wand was missing, and so was the knife.

Harry reached out, his thumb and forefinger hovering just over the string.

Draco's heart stuttered. "Harry, don't—"

But it was too late. The second Harry's fingers connected with the string both boys were flung forward. The world rushed past them, so hard and so fast it became nothing more than a grey blur. Harry and Draco clung together, trying to keep their feet even as the wind whipped around their bodies with an unyielding force. Not a second later they crashed to a halt. Draco stumbled forward, crashing head first into a wall. Breathing heavily, he looked around, but it was too dark to see much of anything.

"Harry?" he called in a hoarse whisper.

A few feet away, he heard Harry groan. Old floorboards creaked as Harry's weight shifted. "Draco? Where…where are we?"

"I think we're in a closet," Draco replied, pointedly choosing to ignore the Gryffindor's questions. "The thread must've been a portkey of some kind." That was the most Draco could make of it. The demon…he was playing some sort of game with them.

There was something here he wanted Draco to see before he died.

"A portkey?" Harry said, his voice much closer now than it had been moments before.

The blonde ignored him, his hands grasping and splaying against the wall. Finally, his fingers hit metal. A doorknob. Smirking, Draco turned it and pushed the door open. Warm yellow light and the smell of ale hit them like a wave. He heard Harry's sharp intake of breath, and then felt its release against the back of his neck. Together, they stepped out into a short narrow hallway, the sound of deep baritone voices and clinking voices floating over their ears.

Harry looked at him askance. "Listen. Their accents…all of them."

Scottish. Bloody hell.

Slowly, the boys made their way down the hall, and Draco could feel his heart beating in strange fluttering bursts in his chest. Scotland…why Scotland of all places? What could the demon possibly want them to see here?

As if connecting with his innermost thoughts, Harry whispered next to him, "What are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Draco replied truthfully.

"You don't think—you don't think it's some sort of trap, do you?"

"That possibility certainly shouldn't be ruled out."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "I don't have my wand."

Draco looked at him, a small frown pulling at the corners of his lips. "Either do I."

A few more steps saw them rounding a corner into a large crowded room. The establishment was obviously a bar, and a rather rustic one at that. Smoke from cigars curled into a foggy haze that hung just above the scattered wooden tables, where men sat with their pints of beer and their greasy food. Many of them were clad in some sort of uniform—dark blue with white striping on the collar and sleeves. Navy perhaps? Draco didn't really know. Muggle wars had never interested him much.

He chanced venturing out father into the room, not knowing exactly where he was meant to be going. Harry followed at his heels, keeping close as they pushed their way through the large burly mass. Draco's nose crinkled—frankly, most of them could use a bath.

"Oi, John!" A voice roared above the general hum of the crowd. "Ain't that the kid?"

Draco froze as he saw a few heads turn, black eyes honed in straight on him.

A broad shouldered man—one that the blonde could easily say had more brawn than brain—turned in his seat. "By Jove! That is the littler bugger, ain't it." Grinning around his cigar, the man rose to his feet, and his friend did the same.

Draco felt Harry's fingers wrap around his upper arm. Not a second later, a rush of words were flying through his left ear. "Draco, are they talking to you? Do you _know them_?"

"My, my, my," the broad shouldered man chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like thunder, "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to show your pointy face here again." He began walking towards them, and Draco swore he could feel the floorboards tremble with every weighted step.

"But we're so glad you did," his friend offered, wearing a matching gleeful smile.

"Too bad my brother isn't here to enjoy the reunion, but I'm sure he won't mind if my fists do his talking for him."

Harry's grip on his arm tightened. "Run?"

Draco nodded sharply. "I think that would be wise."

Both boys sprung forward at once, and Draco could feel a rush of wind stir his hair as a fist flew over it. Catching Harry's hand in his own, the blonde sprinted as fast as his feet would carry him, ducking and weaving through the crowd and trying to block out the protesting roars of men being knocked aside by the predators at their back. Draco hit the front door and thrust it open, warm summer air filling his lungs.

"Draco!" Harry yelled, pointing with his free hand to the center of the cobblestone street.

The Slytherin saw it too—the thin red string hovering at waist height in the center of the road. Portkey. He reached out for it, making sure Harry's hand was still firmly latched in his own. But when his palm hit the string…nothing. Draco slammed to a halt, his blood pounding in his ears and his thoughts flying. Left or right?

"Get back here you scrawny brats!"

Harry and Draco's heads whipped around to see the two men barreling out of the bar, cigars now lost and their faces contorted with fury.

This time, it was Harry that pulled him to the right. "Follow it!" he hissed breathlessly. "Keep your hand on it! Don't let go!"

Draco did, and together they ran. His feet glanced against the stone, and the string was tearing through his hand so fast his skin was burning with pain. The men were close behind them, and Draco didn't know if they could see the string but he wasn't about to chance turning his head to check. They were yelling now, harsh cold words that made no sense, so the blonde just ran faster.

They were nearing a crossroads with a well set in its center. In a fleeting moment Draco saw, the string ended at that well. If it didn't transport them back before it ended…

"I'm going to fucking kill you! Do you hear me, boy? I'm going to rip your fucking head off!"

"Keep running!" Harry shouted, urging Draco faster than their already blistering pace.

Draco's lungs were scorching, and he could feel hot blood wetting his palm. The well was close now. So close. But so were the men. He could feel the fingers of one of them catching on the ends of his robes.

They weren't going to make it.

Harry was reaching out with his free hand, his fingers splayed and stretched, and Draco was oddly reminded of Harry reaching out for the snitch.

Then he felt it—the man's hand finally catching the fabric of his robes. He felt the cloth tighten across his chest before finally yanking him out of his run just as Harry's grip closed on the end of the string.

And suddenly they were falling forward, pitched onto the hard ground in a tangle of limbs. The hard _wooden_ ground. Wood, not stone.

Draco's eyes were pressed shut, and his breath came in hard pants against the base of Harry's neck. Both boys gripped each other tightly, allowing the still reality to settle upon their frenzied senses.

"I—" the Slytherin could feel Harry shaking his head. "What _was_ that?"

"I don't know," Draco said, still panting.

Harry shoved him off, his green eyes glaring daggers. "Don't know? Those men knew you, Draco. They _knew you_. You must know something!"

Draco blinked, suddenly very aware of the sharp pain that was now pulsing on his palm. "I don't."

"That's—" Harry forcibly clamped his mouth shut against the words rushing up his throat. He tore his gaze away from Draco and pushed himself up to his feet. "Well, we're back at Grimmauld Place now, so whatever it was, it obviously—" Harry cut off again, though this time it was not by choice. Brow tightening, the Gryffindor marched across the room.

Draco craned his neck to follow him, noticing that he was walking towards a series of papers that had been pinned to the wall. As soon as the thought registered, Draco too was jumping to his feet and hurrying over to join the other boy.

"Mysterious attacks in Edinburgh, Scotland leaves citizens concerned," Harry read aloud. "Edinburgh assaulter strikes again: fifth victim in the last eight days. Safety precautions for—Draco," Harry turned towards him, his expression the strange combination of confusion and determination. "Edinburgh…do you suppose that's where we just were?"

The blonde scanned the articles, wanting to read the words but somehow unable to focus his eyes on them long enough to make them out. "I guess that would make sense."

"An attacker," Harry breathed out slowly. "Merlin, Draco, these are about you, aren't they."

"About me?" Draco snapped incredulously, pulling his eyes away from the newspaper clippings to stare back at Harry. The other boy was giving him one of his firm tell-me-the-truth looks, which the blonde could only huff at. "Don't be bloody ridiculous."

"Draco, the dates, they're from the exact days you disappeared the first time."

Brows furrowing, Draco turned back and saw that Harry was, in fact, right. The earliest article was printed just two days after he'd received the Time Turner in Knockturn Alley. But…that was impossible.

"You don't remember where you were, do you."

"Of course I remember."

"Then _where were you_?"

The blonde snorted. "I was in the bloody future, if you must know."

There was an extended beat of dubious silence. "The future?" Harry echoed.

"Well I certainly wasn't in Scotland!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And yet somehow those men knew you!"

"I already told you, I don't know anything about that!"

"I know what you—oh!" Harry's eyes went wide as a thought hit him so hard he literally stumbled backwards. "Hermione was right. Merlin, she was right!" His head whipped side to side, his gaze no longer acknowledging Draco's presence.

Draco had the sudden urge to grab Harry by the shoulders and shake him, but he stayed rooted to the spot. "Right about what?" But Harry wasn't listening to him. He was already halfway across the room. "Right about what, Harry?"

Harry was standing near the left wall, his hand hovering over a red string that Draco was quite sure hadn't been there before. He looked at Draco then, his eyes shining from behind his glasses. "We have to follow the threads," he said softly.

"Follow the—" the blonde gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Follow the threads? Have you already forgotten the size of those blokes that wanted to, and I quote, rip my head off?"

"We have to find your lost time, Draco."

"My lost—what the hell are you talking about?"

Harry's jaw tightened, and for a moment he looked so fragile, standing there with his shirt stained with Draco's blood. The light was so dim and full of dust that the picture in front of him seemed like a dream. What he wouldn't do to keep that dream in reality. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Harry…"

"Don't you?"

"Asks the boy who had me locked up in my own dungeon." There was no mirth in the words, but Draco found himself saying them anyway.

A flash of hurt flickered over Harry's face and his mouth pulled down into a scowl. "You know why I had to do it."

"No." The blonde's brows came together. "No, I really don't."

"You'd disappeared three times on me—I couldn't risk you trying to run again!"

"So you had me chained to the wall like some common criminal? Forgive me if that seems a touch extreme!"

Harry hesitated for a long moment, his shoulders sagging. His gaze drifted between Draco and the floor several times before he finally said in a pained whisper, "You don't remember how you were when I finally found you."

The Slytherin was silent, though he shifted his weight uncomfortably as a small shiver made it's way down his spine.

"Your body was ripped to shreds—you'd lost so much blood that you could only sustain consciousness for minutes at a time, and even then you never really seemed awake. I called in every kind of mediwizard there was. They attended to you constantly while I sat there and wondered if you were ever going to wake up again and be you. Half of them said you wouldn't—Hermione said you wouldn't. None of them could tell me what was wrong with you. But I stayed with you anyway, and every day I held your hand and prayed that you would hold mine back." Harry looked at him, his eyes glistening and every inch of him trembling with feeling. "And then one day you did. You began to crawl out of it, and—Merlin help me—I panicked. I locked you up down there because I didn't know what you would do when you finally woke up. You can't blame me for it, Draco. You can't."

His body seemed an extension of Harry's then. He could feel his own limbs shaking, his muscles quivering beneath his skin like plucked strings. All he could do was nod, not trusting that his voice could manage the words he wanted to say. He hadn't known…how could he have? But even so, one question still begged at the back of his mind. "When I woke…you were looking for something. Did you find it?"

"No," Harry replied with obvious difficulty. "But I think I still can."

The blonde nodded again. He didn't have the heart to tell Harry that it was already too late.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Your question?" Draco said, distracted by a disturbed cloud of dust rolling along the floor.

"Do you trust me?"

Draco sighed heavily, his gaze finding Harry's once more. "You know that I do."

"Then come with me."

And after something like that, what else could Draco do? With slow diffident steps he made his way towards Harry and towards the string. He stopped mere inches away from the other boy, close enough that he could feel the heat from his body permeating the cool air. He nearly jumped when he felt the skin of Harry's hand brush against his own.

Harry raised his eyebrows as he laced their fingers together, slicking them both with blood. Then, he raised his other hand and set it against the string. It shuddered, and the whole room vibrated with an angry hiss as they were pulled forward once again into black.

The landing was easier now that they were expecting it. They found their footing on a dry dusty floor in a wide entryway ending in an aged oaken door. At least it wasn't a closet. Both boys checked behind them, unsurprised to find that there was no door there.

Draco stared at the door ahead of them, uncertainty bubbling in his stomach. "Harry…"

Harry's grip on his hand tightened. He started towards the door, his expression full of determination. "Come on."

"Well excuse me if I'm not over eager to get chased down by another pair of Hippogriff-sized Scots," Draco huffed, and he didn't have to see Harry's face to know that he was rolling his eyes.

The Gryffindor pulled the door open, and ushered Draco through ahead of him. The scenery changed so abruptly that it took the blonde's brain a moment to catch up with his eyes. The air was thick with smoke, so much so that Draco couldn't see where the room ended. This wasn't normal cigarette smoke though—it smelled acrid, and it made Draco's eyes sting and water. Sparse lamplight cast the room in a dim subdued glow that his eyes couldn't quite seem to adjust to. There were only colors, and various vague shapes in the forms of beds and sheer curtains and human figures.

"Draco…this is…"

"An opium den, I know," Draco finished, his lips twitching around the words. First a Scottish bar, and now an opium den. Why? What was the connection? What did the demon want him to see?

_Find the heart, and cut it out_.

Grimacing, Draco chanced a step forward. It appeared the second his heel landed—a thin red string that stretched from the door behind them forward into the veil of smoke. Harry's fingers were still laced in his own, and the heat of his body was close at his back.

"Follow it," Harry said, his voice sounding inordinately loud amongst the quiet smoke.

Draco nodded, switching Harry's hand into his right so that his fingers could float along the top of the string as they walked. Together they started forward at a leisurely pace, but somehow it felt more vicious than the quick pulsing of an adrenaline-induced run. He could feel the eyes of strangers dragging over their bodies as they pulled smoke into their lungs and blew it back out again. Those eyes were dark and cold, and they made the Slytherin's skin crawl.

"Draco," Harry squeezed his hand, jerking him back into the present. "Can I talk to you about something?"

The blonde very nearly laughed. "You want to talk _now_?"

"Doesn't really look like there's much else to do, does there?"

Draco didn't suppose there was. The room didn't seem to be ending, and the smoke was so thick now he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him at a time. That was alright though. He was with Harry, and as long as he was with Harry…he was still alive. "Fine," he said after a time. "But I suppose by talk you actually mean that you have some questions."

"Yes," Harry replied, sounding sheepish.

"Fire away."

"Well," Harry's voice dropped down to a softer note, "you said you were in the future, didn't you?"

Draco frowned. "I did."

"Why?"

"Why did I say it, or why was I there?"

There was a moment of annoyed silence. "You know which one I meant."

Of course Draco knew, but that didn't change the fact that he still didn't want to answer the question. But, he supposed, there was no avoiding it—not with Harry exuding every bit of Gryffindor stubbornness he had in him in the his grip on Draco's hand. Where was he supposed to start though? How could he possibly explain? "I went—there was something—" Draco shook his head, regrouping his thoughts. The beginning. He had to start at the beginning.

"A year ago I made the decision to perform a spell that would summon a demon. I'd read books and heard enough lore to know that a demon could grant a wish—any wish—for a certain…price."

"A price?"

"Apparently demon currency takes the form of souls."

Harry hummed softly to himself, apparently working through a thought. "My memories—that was your wish."

"As if it would've been anything else," Draco said, meaning to laugh but not quite able to find the humor. "The deal was, you got your memories back, the demon got my soul, and I got one year with you. One year, and then I would die." Draco clenched his teeth together to keep the emotion in his chest from travelling up his throat and out his mouth. "It's been a year, Harry."

"I think I missed the part where you talked about going to the future," Harry said, as if the last couple sentences Draco had uttered had simply passed through one ear and out the other. As if it didn't even matter.

The Slytherin bit down the spark of anger he felt at Harry's reaction, as well as his urge to turn around and glare at the other boy. "Right. Sorry." With a breath, he pressed on. "There's not really much to it after that. One year wasn't enough. A lifetime wouldn't have been enough, and I thought…I thought I was smart enough to figure a way out. I managed to procure a reverse Time Turner and I used it on three separate occasions to go and see you."

"To see me?"

"You were trying to help me figure out how to get rid of the demon. You were—" Draco was cut off as the image of Harry in Azkaban flashed in his mind. He closed his eyes against it, shaking his head.

The smoke was still thick, and the smell of it was beginning to make Draco's head hurt.

Harry squeezed his hand once more. "Did I ever find anything?"

"No," Draco replied. "You said you needed…something equivalent."

Something about this drew a small chuckle from Harry. This time Draco did turn around, and he was somewhat unsettled to find Harry smiling back at him. Draco stopped. Harry did too, and his smile dropped.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? Why the hell were you smiling?"

Harry's eyebrows flicked up. "Because you're a much better wizard than anyone gives you credit for."

"While this is true, I really don't see how it has anything to do with what I just told you," Draco said, his lips pursing.

"Let's just keep walking, alright?"

"Harry—"

"Draco, please?"

Frowning, and wondering exactly when he had become such a pushover, the blonde turned around and started forward again. His fingers began tapping against the string as he tried to sort through the last few minutes. Harry wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have just made Draco explain all of that for nothing. He wouldn't have—

"Mr. Black!"

Hands reached through the cloud of smoke to grab at his lapels. Instinctually, the hand that wasn't in Harry's jerked to grab at the assailing wrists. A man with dark leathery skin and a sallow gaunt face clutched at him, his dark yellowed eyes brimmed with tears. "Oh, Mr. Black, please, you have to help us!" His accent was tilted and throaty—Middle Eastern, Draco thought, but he couldn't be sure. "You were so kind before! Such a kind kind man you are, Mr. Black!"

Harry hissed from behind, and pushed the man back. "Don't touch him."

The man dropped to his knees, raising his hands in capitulation. "Oh, I'm sorry sir! I'm sorry! Please!"

Draco's eyes flickered between Harry and the man, his nerves on edge. "Tell me what's the matter, and make it quick. Why are you calling me Mr. Black?" He'd only ever used his mother's maiden name on very special occasions, when matters of discretion weren't enough to shield him from notice, and consequently, danger.

The man looked up at him, large tears now spilling over his sunken cheeks. "Why, that's your name isn't it? Aren't you him? Aren't you the great man who helped us before?"

"Helped you what?" the blonde asked briskly.

"Hide from The Light—hide from those rotten muggle lovers who thought what we wanted before the war was wrong. They've been snoopin', Mr. Black. They've been snoopin' around here like blood hounds, and if you don't help us again—"

"Hold on," Harry interrupted. "You're all Death Eaters?"

The man looked at Harry then, and Draco saw the moment that recognition flashed in his glazed eyes. He ripped up the left sleeve of his tunic to expose the skin of his forearm, and there, just barely visible against the tinted hue of his skin, was a Dark Mark. The man glared up at Harry, cracking a mangled grin, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Draco felt Harry flinch back beside him. In reaction, the blonde's hand found Harry's forearm and began to pull him forward, his other hand once again finding the string. "We can't help you."

He heard the man scramble to get to his feet. "But Mr. Black—"

"I won't help you!"

"Mr. Black!"

"Leave us alone!"

Suddenly the smoke vanished in a chasm of black. There was the—now all too familiar—rushing feeling of falling and wind whipping at them from every angle. Not a moment later, they were once again standing in the drawing room of number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Within a moment, Harry was whipping his arm out of Draco's grasp and striding across the room. Grimacing, Draco followed in his wake, noticing along the way that another patch of newspaper clippings had appeared on the wall. There were more of them this time.

Harry eyes scanned them frantically, and Draco waited patiently for him to read them out. He couldn't look himself. He was trying to figure out the connection, because there _had_ to be one. There had to be something that connected the incident in Scotland with the one that had just happened. But no matter what angle he tried, he couldn't figure it out. The Scots hadn't been Death Eaters—he'd seen their arms well enough. One party had wanted to hurt him while the other had needed his help. Nothing. There was nothing. What did the demon want from him here?

_Find the heart, and cut it out._

_ We have to find your lost time…_

For a few too long seconds, Draco couldn't breathe. He turned to look at Harry, searching the soft lines of his profile for something he wasn't sure he wanted to find.

"We were in Turkey," Harry said grimly. "I didn't know Voldemort's forces stretched that far."

Draco knew without a doubt that they had stretched much further than that, but he didn't see much point in Harry finding that out now. There were more pressing matters at hand. "You don't believe that I was in the future…do you."

A muscle in Harry's jaw twitched, and the blonde felt his stomach drop down to his feet. "I do believe that's where you think you were."

"Where I _think_—" Draco couldn't finish. He pressed his mouth shut and turned away, walking back towards the center of the room before the heaviness in his feet dragged him to a stop. He felt strange, like the floor was rocking beneath his feet and threatening to give way into an endless void. He almost hoped it would.

"Draco…" He heard Harry's footsteps bringing him closer.

"Don't!" the blonde barked, and Harry stopped.

"Draco," Harry started again, more gently this time. "Did you think I wouldn't do everything I could to figure out what was wrong with you? Did you think I wouldn't find the spell you performed to give me my memories back? That was dangerous magic, Draco—more dangerous than you could ever have imagined—"

"I know how dangerous it was!"

"No, you don't! There's a reason why magic like that is illegal—there's a reason why it's _dark_! Anything can be erased, but you can't just create something out of nothing! There has to be a balance! You have to give up something that's equivalent!"

Equivalent. The word hit Draco like a shot.

"And I know you're talented at mind-altering magic, Draco. I know you've sent me visions and dreams before, but this was different. To give me memories back, you had to be willing to give up your own. But spells like that are unstable. You can't control them, and they can end up taking more than you wanted to give." Harry chanced a few more anxious steps forward. "Do you understand what I'm saying? This spell could drive you mad if we don't stop it!"

"I'm _not mad_!" Draco felt dizzy. Everything was starting to spin and he couldn't quite figure out where he was in the room. It wasn't true. Harry didn't know. The demon…

_Find the heart, and cut it out_.

The Slytherin teetered dangerously, his arm going out to steady himself. And then he was falling.

"DRACO!" he heard Harry scream just as his hand hit another string.

The darkness swallowed him, wrapping him in claws of black and pulling him down into the abyss. A few windy seconds later saw the blonde thrown unceremoniously down onto a hard cold stone floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. Draco coughed and pulled in several breaths of ice-chilled air.

"How nice it is to see you again so soon."

Every hair on Draco's body stood on end. Slowly, the Slytherin raised his head, already knowing what he was going to see yet somehow needing the validation of actually seeing it. Draco blinked several times, willing the image in front of him to fade, but it didn't. It remained before him like a stubborn stain, dark and vivid and refusing to be washed away.

The demon smiled, his arms stretching out on either side of him. "Aren't you going to say that it's nice to see me too?"

Draco didn't respond, instead focusing his concentration on rising shakily to his feet.

"Ah, I see. You weren't expecting me back so soon, then?"

Again Draco ignored him. He glanced around the room, trying to gather some sort of bearing so that he could figure out where he was. The room they were in was cold and rather dark, but Draco could make out the rough slate colored stone well enough, as well as the shackles that hung from them. There was only one door to the room, solid and wooden and positioned directly behind the demon.

He was trapped.

"I see you've realized your situation," the demon continued with just the barest hint of a sneer.

"Where am I—" Draco was cut off as a high-pitched scream rang down the hall, holding on to one piercing note before falling off in a strangled cry.

The demon lowered his arms and turned around to look at the door, his body shaking with a breathy laugh. His gaze drifted slowly back to Draco, his eyes glittering like obsidian. "Isn't it obvious? You're in the place where people go to die."

Another scream rippled through the silence, and it took all of Draco's willpower not to shrink back against the wall. Those screams were too familiar—the pain in them hit too close to home. "What then?" he asked, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn't shake. "A prison?"

"Oh, no." The demon began to walk forward, slow strolling steps that betrayed no sense of urgency. "Prisons are where people are taken to die—this is where people _go_."

"I don't understand."

The demon was close now—barely an arm's length away. "Yes you do. Don't pretend that you don't. Don't pretend that there isn't a part of you that wants all of this to be over and done with," he finished with a vague gesture and a sinister grin. "Life has thrown a lot at you, Draco. There's no shame in wanting to die."

Draco shook his head. "But I don't. I don't want to die."

"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not really giving you a choice." The demon sprang forward, leaping at Draco with a lightning speed.

Before the blonde even had a chance to react he was falling to the ground. His head hit the stone with a sickening crack and a flurry of stars burst before his eyes. He felt a weight press down on his torso, pinning his arms and legs to the floor.

"Not that this hasn't been fun," the demon hissed, his breath pooling against Draco's face and causing him to choke, "but I'm done playing this game with you." Something hit the blonde hard across the side of his face, and his vision exploded into white once more. "You're going to give me what I want." Another blow, whipping Draco's head to the other side. "And know in your heart that it's what you want too."

Draco could feel his mouth filling with blood, and his left cheek was throbbing where the bone had obviously cracked. But the pain only seemed to clear his mind, and the rush of adrenaline in his veins made his blood surge. Mustering all his strength, Draco heaved his body up and shoved the demon off, and put everything he had into one solid punch. Draco felt his hand hit the solid bone of a jaw and teeth. The demon was thrown to the side with a furious yell, but Draco didn't waste a moment. He hoisted himself to his feet and sprinted towards the door—or where he thought the door was. His vision hadn't quite cleared enough to make out where he was going, but his legs hurtled him forward nevertheless. Not a second later, he hit the wooden door with a loud thump. Scrambling, Draco felt for the doorknob and yanked the door open.

Screams hit his ears like the wails of a banshee. His legs faltered beneath him, threatening to give way, but he pressed forward. And then he saw it—the string, spanning the width of the hall not ten feet away. Heart leaping into his throat, Draco sprang forward.

"Draco!" Somehow the demon's voice carried over the undulating cries of agony. Draco felt his body freeze and pull taut, like bindings had suddenly wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles and were now attempting to pull his bones from their joints. He bit back a strangled yell as all his muscles tensed, attempting in vain to pull against the invisible ropes.

"Just who do you think you're running from, hm?" The bindings jerked, and suddenly Draco was slammed sideways into the wall. A mind-splitting pain rang through him, shooting a blinding electric current across his nerves before his body fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. "You think I don't know you?" The bindings jerked again, flinging him up into the air and against the other wall like a ragdoll. Draco gasped as he felt his ribs crack against the stone, and he heard his own voice join the chorus of screams. "You think I can't see every thought in your weak little mind?" With the demon's sharp laughter ringing in his ears, the Slytherin fell to the ground once more.

He coughed as he strained to regain his breath, and the bitter taste of blood coated his tongue. It felt like he was drowning. Every time he drew air into his lungs he could feel liquid rippling in them. He coughed again, pressing his forehead into the rough stone and willing himself to focus. If he could just reach the string—Harry would be—

Hands wrapped around the collar of his robes and jerked him up, and suddenly the demon's face was right before his, features creased with fury. A thin stream of blood now colored his chin from the split lip Draco's fist had given him, and his once pearlescent teeth were now a dazzling crimson.

"No offense," Draco said, sounding like he was gargling a mouthful of water, "but red isn't really your color."

"Well you had better hope that it's yours, because you'll be drenched in it soon enough," the demon snarled. He drew his fist back and brought it crashing back down into the Slytherin's stomach. Draco sputtered as both blood and bile flew up his throat and black stars glittered along the edges of his vision. With a grimace, the demon hoisted him up, practically dragging him across the floor as they moved forward. "Come on, I have a schedule to keep."

The next thing Draco saw was the demon's hand reaching out, and then his heart was slammed against his sternum as they were thrown into the whirring black. Draco could feel his consciousness waning, fading in and out as he struggled to take in more oxygen. The floor of Grimmauld Place hit them like a brick wall.

"Draco!"

Draco's body jerked as the sound of Harry's voice pulled him back to reality. He twisted his neck, his eyes darting around the room, but the demon's hands found him first. Cold fingers wound around the front of his neck and pulled him up to his knees. Draco gasped as his lungs stretched, feeling the hot wetness of blood slither over his lips once more. He blinked the pain away, willing the world around him into focus.

"Draco!"

And there Harry was, standing before him, tangled helplessly in a red web of string. The Gryffindor struggled to move forward, but there was nowhere for him to move—the web was too thick. "Draco!" he yelled, his eyes flashing with a manic sort of dread. "Draco, are you alright?"

Draco could only stare forward as the demon threaded his other hand into his hair. He knew he should be doing something—trying to escape the demon's grasp, or pulling away from his touch…something! But he couldn't move. He could barely breathe.

The demon hummed delightedly. "I love the smell of fear in the morning," he hissed, his lips brushing the shell of Draco's ear. "Don't you?"

"Draco!" Harry whipped his arm forward and some of the strings snapped in a burst of red liquid. "Draco, I need you to listen to me! I need you to listen to the sound of my voice!"

"I can see why you like him." The demon said, pressing his tongue against the curve of Draco's neck. "He's kinda cute when he's distressed." The Slytherin shuddered as his stomach churned. He could see Harry's mouth moving, but there was no sound coming out. A few more strings snapped. "He's trying so hard to save you—it's tragic, really. But, at least he'll get to be here for the grand finale."

Then, suddenly, the knife was on the ground in front of him, the blade reflecting light and string like a bloodied smile.

"This is what it's all come down to, Draco—you and me and him. We made a deal, and now you have to live up to your end of the bargain." Draco felt the demon's fingers tighten in his hair as he inhaled. "Now pick it up."

Draco stared down at the knife for a long moment. Then the muscles in his arm began to move, almost of their own volition, drawing his hand to the hilt.

"Draco!" The sound of Harry's voice burst through the veil of silence once more. The Slytherin's eyes snapped up. Harry's face was contorted and spattered with blood, and for the first time Draco found himself wondering whose it was. "Listen to me! None of this is real! Whatever it is you think you have to do here, you don't have to do it!" Harry kicked out violently, and managed to break one leg free.

The demon hissed and the room began to shudder. It vibrated beneath Draco's knees and made his skin hum. "Pick up the knife, Draco. _Now_."

With a rush of panic, Draco felt his fingers close around the hilt of the knife. He plucked it from the ground, trembling in his effort to release his hold, but his muscles were no longer responding to his mind at all. The grip on his scalp tightened further, and it was like pulling the strings of a puppet—Draco's arm jerked, and suddenly the blade was positioned directly in front of his chest.

"It won't hurt," the demon purred softly, his voice like a chilling wind. "Not as badly as you think." Draco's arms began pull inward, inching the knife slowly and steadily towards his heart.

"DRACO!" There was a loud ripping thrum, like the sound of all the strings on a harp splitting apart at once, and then Harry was in front of him. The Gryffindor crashed to his knees and wrapped his hands around Draco's. The knife stopped, and the floor began to tremble harder. "Stop, Draco! Stop! Listen to me! I know you know what this is about!"

The demon snarled, and Draco could feel his anger like a hot ember in his chest. "Let go." They were the demon's words, but for some reason they had escaped through Draco's mouth. The blonde swallowed thickly and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. For some reason all he could taste was ash.

"This is about my memories. That's all. That's all this is. The spell said you could give me back mine if you gave the equivalent about of your own. But it went wrong and now—" Harry broke off, struggling. "But if you just reverse the spell—if you take my memories back again—everything will be ok!"

"Let go!" the demon screamed over Draco's tongue once more. Draco's body gave a violent jerk, attempting to pry the knife from Harry's grasp. Both their hands slipped, sliding over the bolster and tightening once more around the blade with mutual gasps of pain.

"I won't!" Harry bellowed, and Draco could feel the warm slickness of their mingled blood snaking through their fingers. "This knife is what's tethering this magic to you, and we have to destroy it! I'm not going to let you die for this!"

"Even if you could do what you say," the demon snarled, and Draco wished that he could choke himself against his own voice. "Even if you could break this spell, it wouldn't do you any good. You wouldn't love him anymore, and that's all this sick, self-sacrificing bastard cares about. You think I wouldn't claim him again? You think that I _couldn't_?"

If Harry thought it was odd that Draco was talking about himself in the third person, he didn't bother showing it. His fists tightened around the blade, sending a fresh wave of blood spilling over their skin. "Is that what you think this is about, Draco? Me loving you?" He shook his head, leaning in close with his eyes as blazing and wild as the heart of a jungle. "I know why you made me forget you two years ago—I know it was some sort of ridiculous penance that you thought you had to perform for doing the things that you did to me. Well, guess what? Everyone fucks it up sometimes. That's _what people do_! You think any of it matters to me? You think I care about what you did, then or now? I belong to you and you belong to me and we belong to each other and that's all there is! Memories or no! I don't need them! I don't want them!"

"You're lying!"

"I'm not! Let me prove it to you! Destroy it and I'll prove you every day for the rest of our lives that I'm not lying!

Draco could feel the demon writhing behind him, but his lips remained shut. He stared at Harry, his mind moving like a slow trickle of water. Everything around him seemed strangely subdued, pulling in and out of focus with various shades of a muted grey…everything…except Harry. The image of Harry seemed to burn before him like the light of a lone star in an endless black sky. His hands began to quiver.

"I don't," Draco paused, somehow surprised to hear his own voice passing over his lips. Swallowing the blood that had traveled up his throat, he tried again. "I don't deserve—"

"Yeah, well, you don't deserve to die either! Enough people have died, Draco!"

The Slytherin's hands flexed. "I…I can't let it go."

"You don't have to," Harry whispered fervently. "All you have to do is destroy it."

Behind him, the demon bucked and Draco felt his biceps tighten and pull the knife dangerously close to his sternum. "You can't do this, Draco, do you understand me? You can't. I'm not going to let you."

Harry pulled against him frantically, gasping as the blade cut them further, grazing against bone. His arms were shaking and his forehead was beaded with sweat and droplets of spattered blood, but still he held tight. He looked at Draco, every inch of his expression pained and imploring. "Draco…please."

The tip of the blade was digging against his robes now, and the demon was practically writhing in anger. The feeling of it consumed him, and Draco could feel its heat spreading out of the demon's chest and into his back. And suddenly, he knew what it all meant—why they were here and what he had to do. Draco shook his head. "I can't. I can't!"

"Yes, you can!" The words sounded like a plea as they tore through Harry's throat. "You're the strongest person I know…you can do this!"

No, that wasn't true. Draco wasn't strong—he'd never been strong. Harry was the strong one. He was the noble one. He was the one who could make the right call when lives were on the line. Draco was the selfish one. He wanted what he wanted and he would do whatever he had to do to get it, and that was that. He'd never seen it as a flaw, or something he'd needed to remedy—it was just an aspect of who he was. Draco considered himself many things, but strong was definitely not one of them.

But…Harry didn't need strong. And he didn't need noble. He already had those things. He knew what they were and how they worked and how to use them when his world fell to ashes. What he needed was someone different—someone who could be cold, callous, and save him from his own heroic tendencies. What he needed was someone selfish.

And right now he needed Draco to be that someone.

The Slytherin pressed his eyes shut, knowing that the look on Harry's face would be the only thing that could change his mind. For some reason he could feel it better this way—the deep dark mass inside him where the demon had taken control. He took a deep breath and pushed it down, forcing it from his hands, up his arms and down into the pit of his stomach. Fury, sharp and biting fought to tear its way back up, and Draco could feel its claws ripping at him from underneath his skin, but he ignored it. He'd lived through enough pain to know how to push thoughts of it from his mind.

Then, he could feel it—the soft warmth of control over his own limbs. They were slightly numb and tingling from strain, and his fingers were splayed open and slick with too much blood. Slowly, he began to turn the blade, and Harry was still pulling against him with all his might. It would be so easy. Too easy. All he had to do was let go.

_Find the heart, and cut it out_.

Draco released the blade, and the knife plummeted back, straight into Harry's chest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

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><p>Was it what you thought it would be? Was it not? Let me know! Only two chapters left (keep in mind, this story WILL have a happy ending!)<p>

**Review to save our poor Harry's life!**


	19. Clarity

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: And thus, delivered to you on this fine March evening, behold! The last chapter! (Well...excluding the epilogue...but we'll get to that later). And also, I adore this song. I've been listening to the acoustic version on repeat for like week. Thought it fit this chapter perfectly :)

And once again, many thanks to **ThexBlairxWitch**. It's been a long road, and I think we're both excited to be near the end!

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><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_Don't speak as I try to leave_

_Cause we both know what we'll choose_

_If you pull, then I'll push too deep_

_And I'll fall right back to you_

_Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

_Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why_

_If our love is tragedy why are you my remedy?_

_If our love's insanity why are you my clarity?_

-ZEDD ft Foxes

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

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><p>White burst before Harry's vision as pain lanced through his chest. His entire body jolted, his muscles spasming from the overload of magic rushing into his system. Somewhere around the blurry edges of his vision, he could see Draco, staring at him with grey eyes brimming with tears. His mouth was moving—his lips forming words that Harry couldn't make out.<p>

"Draco…" He didn't know what was happening. All he knew was the unyielding power of the magic that was now coursing through his veins, pulsing through every inch of him and fogging over the clarity of his mind. Strangely though, it didn't frighten him. It should have, he knew, but this was Draco's magic, and it was warm and soothing as it coiled around his veins and through his blood.

The fog in his mind deepened, coaxing him into a state of unearthly calm. He felt like he was floating—drifting high above the clouds and away from the pain. So much pain…so much, and he'd never even realized it. But up here he was free, and the air smelled like violets and warm beverages on cold winter nights.

He remembered this.

He remembered the feeling of a warm body pressed firmly against his own, and water beating down on his shoulders. He remembered soft colors and candlelight and the calming brush of a hand he desperately wanted to hold. He remembered gentle words trickling through his ears like a stream, reaching deep down into the darkest chasms of his soul.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, and Harry felt his stomach hit his spine as gravity suddenly took hold.

He remembered red hair and black eyes. He remembered being alone with cold stone digging into the skin of his knees. He remembered Tom, and falling, and the knife sinking into Tom's chest. Or…no. Sinking into _his_ chest.

He remembered waking up in St. Mungo's, feeling so small amongst the vast whiteness, and being alone, alone, always alone. He remembered wandering through the empty shell of his life and not knowing why it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough…until Draco came back again.

He remembered a small room and a long white hall, and feeling his heart pound so hard that it might break. Memories, and red carpet, and black walls, and distant grey eyes that were once so sharp. Then he was gone again, and the emptiness returned. And there were books…so many books that filled up hours that wouldn't end—all of them spent waiting for the day he would come back to fill the void he'd left.

The pain hit him again, like a shot through his heart, and all at once the images in his mind shattered and fell, scattering like marbles. Magic speared through his mind, unraveling it like a ribbon. Memories flared and burst as they were ripped from him, and Harry could do nothing but bite back his scream as his mind was scorched with a frantic blankness. The magic was hungry—why, Harry didn't know anymore—and it devoured him like a starving lion devours its kill.

The images were gone now, replaced with nothingness—empty, roaring static. And he didn't know why. He didn't know why Malfoy was shaking his hand on the Hogwarts express, or why they were flying together over the ocean, or why they were parted by a seamless piece of crystalline glass. He didn't know why Ginny was smiling at him and his heart wasn't pounding, or why he was always craving cider.

He didn't—

Metal clanged against stone, and suddenly Harry was slammed back into reality. He shuddered once, staring down at the ground and breathing hard. There was a knife just between his thumbs, its blade broken in three equal pieces. It looked like it had been burned by something.

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped up as his heart flipped in his chest. And there was Draco Malfoy, his hands covered in blood and his face only inches away. Harry flinched back reflexively, and pretended not to notice the flash of hurt in the other boy's eyes.

The Slytherin sat back on his heels. "Look," he said with obvious strain, blood spilling over his lips, "please just stay calm and let me explain."

But Harry couldn't stay calm. Malfoy was mere inches away and there was a broken knife on the ground and blood was spattered everywhere. Panic rose up and gripped his throat, making it hard to breathe. Thoughts whirled through his mind, blurred and overwhelming. He needed to get out of here. He needed—

"Harry, please…just—"

Harry didn't wait for Malfoy to finish. He sprang to his feet and rushed from the room, his hand burrowing into his pocket to retrieve his wand. Since when did Malfoy call him by his first name?

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Harry considered himself many things, but stupid was not one of them. Hopelessly naïve maybe, and at times a little too faithful in the goodness of the human spirit, but definitely not stupid.

The Gryffindor was currently sitting in the downstairs parlor at number twelve Grimmauld Place, curled up on a large brown sofa in front of a dimming fire. The floor was littered with parchment and empty beer bottles. The parchment had been evidence that what Hermione had told him was true, and the beer bottles were a product of the aftermath. Alcohol had been the only thing that had managed to keep him calm thus far, and Harry found that if he kept his blood saturated with it then he could somewhat sort through the thoughts that were racing through his brain.

Hermione had told him everything she could—about what had happened last summer, and about the spell that Malfoy had tried to use to reverse it all. She'd told him about what he and Malfoy had meant to each other, and all they'd risked in their remarkably stupid—as Hermione put it—attempts to spare one another harm. He and Malfoy had been…in love. Or, were in love? Harry couldn't quite make out which it was. And then she'd told him about how Malfoy's spell had slowly been driving him mad—ripping his mind apart piece by piece as his magic sought to maintain balance. So, in the end, the only way to stop it had been to take Harry's memories away again. Harry remembered that part…vaguely. Or at least, he remembered being in the drawing room, trapped in a web of string and blood. But there was still so much he didn't know—Malfoy had had to take more than just last summer from him in order to repair the broken fragments of his mind. There was so much emptiness—so much that was blank. And Malfoy—_Draco_, Harry told himself firmly, _his name is Draco_. Harry's body twinged strangely at the thought.

"Master Potter?" Kreacher's gravelly voice broke him of his reverie. "Miss Weasley is here to see you."

Harry's heart skipped a couple beats. "Right. You can—er—show her in then."

Kreacher bowed and exited the room, and Harry immediately leapt up, using his foot to push as much parchment and glass beneath the sofa as he could. He then looked down at his attire and realized he'd been wearing the same shirt for the past two days. When was the last time he'd showered?

"Harry?"

The sound of Ginny's voice made Harry's eyes snap up to the doorway. She stood with one hand propped up on the doorframe, looking unsure as to whether or not she should venture in further.

"Ginny," Harry said, smiling nervously. "Um, do you want to sit?" He gestured at the sofa, still toeing bits of parchment under the skirt.

"Sure." She drifted forward, her pale yellow dress fluttering around her knees. Harry watched her carefully as she circled the arm of the couch and lowered herself onto the far cushion.

Harry eyed her warily, knowing he should sit as well, but somehow unable to get the muscles in his legs to obey. Hermione hadn't exactly been clear as to where he and Ginny stood. His lips twitched. "Would you like some tea or anything?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, thanks."

"Right." Harry nodded and scratched his head.

"Aren't you going to sit?"

Harry glanced down at the sofa. "I've…been sitting a lot today, actually."

"Okay," Ginny pushed herself back to her feet, and closed the space between them in one step. Harry felt his entire body go stiff. "I'll get right to it then. What are you going to do?"

"Do?" Harry gulped audibly. "About what?"

"About Malfoy."

"Malfoy?"

"Merlin, are you just going to parrot questions back at me or are you actually going to answer them?"

Harry bristled. "I hadn't planned on doing anything about it if you must know."

That seemed to belay Ginny's tongue. She stood very still, blinking at him. Then a knowing flicker ghosted over her gaze, and the edges of her lips curled. "That's not true."

"No?" Harry said, desperately wanting to shrink away from her stare but too stubborn to make the move.

"No," she replied, sounding a little too matter-of-fact. "You love him."

"Love him?" Harry very nearly sputtered as he felt his cheeks flame. "Ginny, I'll grant you that a lot has apparently happened between Draco and me, but that in no way means that—"

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit! Who the hell do you think you're fooling here? Because it certainly isn't me." With an annoyed huff, she crossed her arms over her chest. "You think it isn't obvious? You think we all don't know?"

Harry could only manage a dumbfounded stare.

"The way you searched for him when he went missing—you were like a man possessed. And when you finally found him it was even worse. I've never seen anyone care about _anything_ as much as you care for that rotten ferret-faced Slytherin, and Merlin help me, I love you too much to just sit here and let you convince yourself that there's something wrong with it!"

"Ginny," Harry said, shaking his head, "it's not that simple."

"What about it isn't simple?"

"Everything! I've forgotten over half the time I've spent with him, and what I do remember isn't exactly filled with sparkles and rainbows!"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So?" Harry nearly laughed, but his frustration turned the sound into a barking yell. "So!"

"Yeah," Ginny snapped irately. "_So_. Since when are you afraid of imperfection?"

"Who said anything about being afraid?"

Ginny stepped away from him, her eyebrows raising. "Merlin. That's really it, isn't it." She eyed him up and down as if he were a rather strange looking insect she'd never seen before. "You're afraid."

"Of what?" Harry challenged, refusing to acknowledge the twinge of humiliation Ginny's words had inspired. He wasn't afraid though. It was…something else.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe you're scared that he won't love you the same way, or that you won't love him. That it'll be different. Or maybe you're just scared that—that everything will happen all over again."

_That_. That's what it was—this twisting feeling in his gut that always seemed to stab at him whenever Draco crossed his mind. How many times had he allowed himself to fall into Draco's web now, only to find himself slighted in the end? How many times had he blindly trusted? How many times had he told himself, _This time…this time, it will be different_? He didn't know if he could do it again—let himself fall back down into that place knowing that this time might be the time that finally broke him.

"Harry…" The sound of Ginny's voice pulled him back. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and found her eyes shining. "You should know that, after you left, I was angry and scared for a long time. I hurt people that didn't deserve it, and I blamed it all on you. I thought that you had abandoned me—that somehow Malfoy had suckered you into his trap and you didn't even care about what you were leaving behind. But it wasn't your fault that I felt that way, Harry, and it wasn't Malfoy's either. It was mine. It was _my_ fault. I was the one who deluded myself into thinking that our love was the kind that moved mountains and tamed seas. It wasn't. It never was. Do you want to know when I realized it?"

"Ginny…" Harry could feel himself beginning to tremble.

"It was the moment I first saw you with him—really saw you with him—right after I found him on that street in Turkey. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at him that day, and I just knew. You could never have looked at me like that. And he looked at you the exact same way." She sighed heavily, her entire body seeming to bow as if she was holding some tremendous weight on her shoulders. "If I were you, and I had somebody who looked at me the way he looks at you, I wouldn't throw it away for anything—not for the whole world."

Harry merely stared at her, wishing he could sink through the floor.

"Anyway, I should go." She smiled then, almost to herself, and turned to walk back out of the room. Harry's eyes followed her, a strange sort of trepidation coiling is his stomach as she neared the doorway.

Ginny turned, her slender hand sliding up the paneling. "He's being released from the hospital today by the way. Thought you should know."

Harry blinked. The hospital? Alright…so maybe he was a little stupid.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

"I don't need them," Draco seethed, batting away the persistent nurse.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, holding out the crutches once more, "you can barely walk. Please, just take them."

"Look, Nurse Ratched, last time I checked, a punctured lung and a few cracked ribs in no way hinders—"

"You should take them," a voice from the doorway said, and Draco felt every hair on his body stand on end.

The Slytherin turned slowly, fearing that any sudden movement would tear him from this dream he'd stumbled into. And there he was, just standing there in the doorway, all wild black hair and sun-kissed skin, and breathing like he'd just sprinted a mile.

"Harry," Draco whispered.

"Hey," Harry said, his smile small and shy. "You should—uh—take the crutches…if it'll help you walk."

Draco looked at the nurse once more, his lips pursing, and took the crutches without another word. The nurse merely blinked at him as he positioned them under his arms. Admittedly, they did help him balance a bit.

"Can I walk him out?" Harry asked, his question directed at the nurse this time.

Not quite having recovered from Draco's abrupt change in demeanor, the nurse nodded vaguely. "Oh, I suppose that would be alright Mr…" she looked at him and paled. "P—Potter. Mr. Potter, oh!" Her face darkened then, and her hands began to acquire a strange sort of nervous tick, as if they couldn't quite manage being still. "Oh, if my husband were here, he'd be 'round the bend! That catch you made last year at the cup was just—" She cut herself off, flushing. "I—that would be fine for you to see Mr. Malfoy out, of course." Without another word she bustled out of the room, putting as much space as she possibly could between her and Harry as she slid through the doorway.

Both boys stared after her, wide-eyed.

"Wow," Draco said, smirking. "Talk about taming of the shrew."

Harry turned back, his lips quirking. "What?"

"Nothing. I just wish you would've come earlier, before she forced all those revolting potions down my throat."

Harry laughed, and the room came alive with the brightness of the sound. Draco felt his heart flutter, and he couldn't help the broad grin that spread across his features. He took a couple awkward steps forward, trying to get used to the feeling of the crutches supporting his weight. "So, you were going to walk me out?"

"I, uh," Harry's gaze dropped, "was actually wondering if you wanted to…grab coffee or something?"

"Or something?" Draco raised a suggestive brow.

Red crested along Harry's cheekbones. "Not something—just coffee."

The blonde shrugged, somehow still managing to make the gesture look elegant despite his handicap. "I could go for a latte, I suppose." Hell, he'd down a gallon of Polyjuice potion if it meant spending five minutes in Harry's presence.

"Brilliant!"

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Thankfully, the coffee shop was nearly barren when they entered. Though, Harry supposed, 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon was not a particularly easy time to sneak away from work to indulge in a caffeine fix. For once, he was grateful for the hard work ethic the wizarding world instilled in its pupils—it kept prying eyes far away from he and Draco at a time when they couldn't really afford otherwise.

Harry led them over to a table in the back corner, where they took a seat and gave their orders to a young girl with way too much makeup and way too little clothing. Draco ordered a hazelnut latte, and Harry a chai tea. The young girl thudded away in her clunky combat books, leaving the two quite alone, with nothing but silence between them.

"How've you been?" Harry asked, not really knowing what else to say. It had been over a week since he'd run out of Malfoy Manor—over a week since he'd seen Draco's face or heard his voice. It was shameful…he hadn't even known that the blonde was in the hospital. He should've been there. He should've been the one to take him.

There was so much between them. Too much, and Harry didn't know how they would ever manage to bridge the gap. He didn't even know if Draco wanted to.

"Oh, you know," Draco said, shrugging, "I've been as good as anyone with a punctured lung and Aurors breathing down the back of his neck can be."

Harry's heart jolted. "Aurors?"

"Turns out a spell like the one I performed left quite an illegal watermark. They're trying to charge me with dark magic abuse—minimum of a two year sentence in Azkaban."

He said it so nonchalantly, like it didn't even matter. Like he didn't even care. "Draco!" The Gryffindor leaned across the table, his pulse pounding. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Draco looked at him straight on, and Harry felt all the weight of that grey gaze boring into him at once. "Did you have any desire to talk to me before today?"

Harry's lips pursed, his entire body frozen beneath that icy stare.

"I didn't think so."

"Draco," Harry said softly, "that's not fair, and you know it's not."

For once, the Slytherin held his tongue.

"I didn't know how to talk to you. Hell, I don't even know what I would've said. I've had to…work through some things. So I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you this week, but even you can admit that everything that's happened over the past year has made things complicated. What happened between us…" Harry trailed off as the young girl returned with their drinks. She set the mugs down and said something that the Gryffindor didn't bother hearing before she retreated back to the counter once more. Harry stared down at his steaming cup of tea, feeling his stomach churn. He started over, more softly this time.

"What happened between us wasn't normal. Nothing about us has ever been normal. And it's never been easy, and it's never been _right_. But that—" Harry looked up at Draco then, and felt the realization strike him like lightning. He knew then, in that instant, that the Slytherin would never be the person Harry had always dreamed of being with. He would never be good, or right, or just, and their love would never be soft lines and rose petals. Draco was as hard as he was cunning. He burned with an unyielding ferocity that had nearly killed them both on more than one occasion, and he had never and most likely would never give two flips about what anyone said or thought about him. He was brutal and scathingly cruel when he was angry, and demanding and selfish when he wasn't. There would be moments where they would yell at the top of their lungs, moments when punches would be through thrown and blood drawn, and moments where Harry wouldn't be able to breathe for the feeling of suffocating under Draco's heat. And Harry found himself wondering how he'd ever thought he didn't know this boy in front of him—this boy who'd started out as nothing more than skewed morals and a pointed face, and had become the man that Harry couldn't imagine living without. He wondered how he ever doubted loving him, even for a moment. "That doesn't mean it wasn't real," Harry continued in a breathless whisper. "And that doesn't mean it wasn't perfect."

Draco went very still, and Harry could see the iced glaze over his eyes beginning to crack. "Harry…you shouldn't say something like that unless you're sure—"

"I am sure." Suddenly the distance of the table seemed too great a span. He leaned forward, so that he could taste the hazelnut on Draco's breath. "Tell me you love me here. Tell me you love me now."

"I love you here," Draco echoed. "I love you now."

"Then that's all there is. That's all we have. Nothing else matters."

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

Draco held his breath, because he couldn't possibly stand it a moment longer. This couldn't be true—this couldn't be real. Things like this didn't happen. Not to him. So this was a dream then. It had to be. Because there was no way Harry's eyes were ever that brilliantly green, or his lips that sumptuously plush. And he was so close—so tantalizingly close that…

Draco leaned forward, his heart skipping as their lips pressed together. Harry hummed against him and the sound vibrated against the blonde's skin, sending sparks of static skittering across his veins. Being kissed by Harry was like coming apart from the inside out—he filled in all the emptiness, like light pouring through the cracks in a ceiling, and made everything beautiful and whole. And somehow Draco knew that would never change.

Reluctantly, Draco drew back, breaking the kiss with a soft sigh. He watched Harry's eyes open, and chose not to ignore the way it made his stomach flutter. "So, you want to do this then? You and me?"

"That depends," Harry said, a slow lazy smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Are you currently hiding any dangerous plans concocted by my arch enemy's younger self?"

Draco blew out a laughing breath. "No."

"Any hallucinations in the form of demons lurking about?"

"No."

"Any other life altering confessions you'd—"

"Harry," Draco chided.

The Gryffindor smiled, and it made Draco's whole body go warm. "Then yes," Harry whispered, leaning forward once more. "We're going to do this…together."

"For always?"

"Forever."

Then their lips met, and it was perfect.

* * *

><p><em><strong>~xXxXxXx~<strong>_

* * *

><p>Just to answer a few questions. Yes, Draco's charges will be addressed in the epilogue. And yes, there will be a good deal of gushy gooey fluff as well. :)<p>

**Thanks so much to everyone who's stuck with me along the way! You guys are the best. Now, let's finish this business!**


	20. Epilogue

**Title**: Confessions

**Author**: Aima D. Duragon

**Rating**: This chapter is PG-13 for language and innuendo.

**Warnings**: slash (H/D)

**Spoilers**: SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP, HBP, DH

**Disclaimer**: JK Rowling owns everything, but sometimes I like to pretend that she doesn't :) and thus my fics are born.

**A/N**: Hey all, I'm sorry this took so long to get out...I was dealing with a family emergency etc. BUT! Here you are for your reading pleasure...the epilogue to the epic sequel.

Of course I want to thank my lovely beta **ThexBlairxWitch** for sticking with me all the way through the highs and lows of this story. She's the best a girl could ask for!

* * *

><p><strong><em>~xXxXxXx~<em>**

_Cause I don't wanna lose you now_

_I'm lookin' right at the other half of me_

_The vacancy that sat in my heart_

_Is a space that now you hold_

_Show me how to fight for now_

_And I'll tell you baby, it was easy_

_Comin' back into you once I figured it out_

_You were right here all along_

_It's like you're my mirror_

_My mirror staring back at me_

_I couldn't get any bigger_

_With anyone else beside of me_

_And now it's clear as this promise_

_That we're making two reflections into one_

-Justin Timberlake

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

* * *

><p>"Malfoy."<p>

The voice at Draco's back caused him to turn. "Weasley," he greeted with remarkably little disdain, fastening the silver snake-shaped cufflink on his right sleeve.

Ron shifted on his feet, straightening the lapels of his own suit subconsciously. "You wanted to see me?" He was still standing in the doorway, looking rather reluctant to enter the room.

"I did," Draco said in a lazy drawl, "And for heaven's sake don't just stand there with the door open like an imbecile. It's rude." He turned back to the full-length mirror that hung on the wall, admiring his reflection as he listened to the creaking sound of Weasley shutting the door behind him. The past year had treated him well. He'd regained all the weight he'd lost, and the winter had been generous enough to give him an extra couple of inches in his legs. Regular exercise had put color back in his cheeks and given his lithe figure strength and purpose. His crisp white suit accentuated all these changes quite nicely, and Draco couldn't help but smirk as he saw how the redhead noticed this as well as he did.

"Well get on with it," Ron snapped.

"So testy, Weasley." Draco raised a pale brow. "This is supposed to be a day of celebration you know."

"Speaking of which, weren't we all supposed to be out in the hall—oh," he checked his watch dramatically, "five minutes ago?"

"It's _my_ wedding, so I'd like to think it would wait for me to show up before it starts."

"Malfoy!"

"Alright, alright." Draco brushed an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder before turning to face the other boy once more. "Marrying Granger really did disappointing things to your sense of humor. We used to have such good banter. Ah, memories. Remember the slugs? I remember the slugs. I used to name them sometimes when I couldn't fall asleep—"

"Malfoy, will you please tell me what the hell is going on. You're starting to scare me. You're not starting to rethink marrying—"

"No!" Draco interrupted sharply, his features abruptly dropping into a threatening glare. "Not even close. I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Then what?"

"I…" Draco blew out heavy breath. "I need to make sure that _he's_ sure."

"Malfoy, I'd say the fact that _he asked you_ _to marry him_ means he's bloody well ready!"

"He asked me before the trial. You remember how high emotions were running that day—and he had no possible way of knowing I'd get off. He was being dramatic."

Ron snorted. "He's had plenty of opportunities to take it back."

"Forgive me if I point out that he's proposed to someone he didn't really want to marry before. And he would've gone through with it too…you know he would have."

Ron rushed forward. "Don't you dare compare yourself to Ginny," he hissed, his fists tightening. "Don't you dare. It's not fair and you know it's not. What he felt for her doesn't even hold a candle to what he feels for you."

"Weasley—"

"No! I'm sick and tired of this! I'm sick and tired of you both always trying to come up with reasons why you can't be happy! You want to marry Harry, Harry wants to marry you—get the fuck over it!" Ron was breathing deeply now, his chest rising and falling in large spans.

Draco found himself poised in a defensive stance that he hadn't taken in a long time. Ron was a pretty big bloke after all, and the Slytherin was more than familiar with just how hard he could throw a punch.

"Now come on," the blonde flinched back as Ron's hand whipped forward with surprising speed and wrapped around his wrist. He towed Draco behind him, leading them out of the room and into the ornate hall. The smell of roses and lilies hung heavily in the air, and the dark wooden paneling on the walls gleamed like dark fire.

They rounded a corner and were met by a small, yet rather frenzied looking crowd, all dressed in their Sunday finest. Draco's stomach did a small flip.

"Oh!" A small, plump witch popped out from the crowd, her whole body jiggling excitedly as she waddled towards them. She had a shock of white blonde hair, and wore a shade of lipstick so pink that her lips practically glowed. Why Harry had insisted they have a wedding planner, Draco would never know. "There you are! Oh we're running late! Late! So very late! Come now, into formation! Just like we practiced!" She grabbed Draco and Ron and tore them apart, ushering them towards the mass. She pushed Ron towards the front, somewhere next to Pansy, before depositing Draco at the very back.

"Are you fashionably late to every event you attend?"

Draco turned to see Harry standing next to him, beaming like he'd just won the World Cup—which, the blonde supposed, he had. Twice now. He was also dressed in an all-white suit, and where the color cast Draco in shades of silver, Harry was cast in shades of gold. His skin was luminous, and his eyes were like two orbs of green set against the sun. Draco couldn't remember ever seeing anything so beautiful.

"I really don't see why you and Weasley are so up in arms about the time all of a sudden," Draco said, straightening his sleeve where Ron had crumpled it. "Really, you should've heard him droning on about it before."

"Acid to your ears, I'm sure."

"You have him to blame for my tardiness. Really, the man's mouth never stops."

"I'll be sure to give him a solid 'I'm disappointed in you' glare during the ceremony."

Draco threw him a withering look. "No you won't."

"Well," Harry grinned, "I'll think about it at least."

The blonde hummed.

"I'll think about thinking about it?"

"I'm sure you will."

They were cut off by the sound of doors opening and bows being pulled across violin strings. With barely a thought, their hands dropped and intertwined. Harry's skin felt undeniably warm and real against his own.

"Thank you for doing this," Harry whispered.

Draco frowned, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as Hermione and Blaise started the procession. "For marrying you?"

Harry elbowed him. "For marrying me in my parents' church."

"Lucky for you they had great taste in architecture." And they did. The church itself was old—parts of it dating back to the 1600s—but there was a certain amount of pride in the arch of the grand halls, and the flawless curve of the stone staircases, and Draco liked that. It seemed to think itself a cut above the company—a trait which the Slytherin couldn't help but admire. Especially now when it was bursting at the seams with bouquets, and alight with the saffron glow of thousands of floating twinkling lights.

The space in front of them widened as the procession continued, and suddenly Draco and Harry were standing under the doorway, and the music was rising around them like birds in flight.

Harry's hand tightened around his, and together they stepped forward.

**_~xXxXxXx~_**

The sound of a door closing and a lock sliding into its chamber echoed through the silent room, followed shortly by a fit of uncontrollable giggles. Draco placed his hands on either side of Harry's shoulders and pushed him back against the door, dipping down to claim his lips in a heated kiss.

Harry's hands wound around his neck as he pulled the blonde in deeper. The Gryffindor tasted of expensive champagne and red velvet cake, and Draco could feel himself beginning to salivate at the thought of devouring his new spouse. His hands began drifting towards the buttons of Harry's shirt, and made quick work of two before the other boy pushed him back.

"Slow down, will you?" Harry said, a giggle rippling in the back of his throat. "This time is supposed to be special—romantic and such."

"And when am I ever not romantic?"

"I don't think anyone would call you grabbing my arse in the middle of the ceremony romantic."

"No," Draco agreed, dipping down to nibble at the smooth line of the other boy's neck. "They'd much sooner call it jealousy, wouldn't they. My hand was the envy of the whole room."

Harry laughed, tilting his head back to expose more skin. "How are you still so sharp even when you're drunk?"

"How are you still so dull even when you're not?"

"I rely on charm and heroism to solve my problems, not intelligence."

Draco smirked. "And sheer dumb luck."

"Luck came in handy from time to time." Harry's hands slipped to the front of Draco's collar, his fingers fiddling with the top button. His eyelashes fluttered, brushing against his glasses as his eyes lowered and his smile dropped. He looked very intense for a moment—harsh and brutally real in the soft candlelight. "We're going to be ok, aren't we?"

Draco's brows furrowed. He dipped his finger beneath Harry's chin and brought his face back up. "Where's this coming from?"

"Ron told me…about what you said."

The blonde felt his mouth go sour. "Did he?"

"Do you really think that I don't want to be with you?"

"Remind me to maim Weasley tomorrow."

"Draco," Harry's fingers tightened around his collar. "I'm being serious."

"When you wake up to find the Weasel's head on a platter I think you'll realize that I am too."

Harry huffed impatiently. "Just answer my question."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're drunk."

"So?"

"So," Draco said, pulling Harry back towards the indecently large bed in the center of the room, "when you're drunk, you're prone to talking nonsense."

"And when you're drunk you're prone to avoiding valid questions."

With a surprising amount of ease, Draco threw the Gryffindor back onto the bed, and pinned him there. His fingers wound around Harry's wrists, his nails scraping against the silk comforter as he pressed the other boy down into the mattress. "Harry," he whispered, "I love you more than anything. What else matters?"

Harry stared back up at him, his glasses slightly skewed, and his cheeks flushed with color. "It matters that you know that I love you just as much as you love me."

The blonde chuckled sardonically. "Impossible."

Harry's jaw tightened, and Draco felt his heart skip. He knew that look—it was the look that gave Harry the power to command a room; to open his mouth and have everything fall into silence. "Do you remember when I asked if you loved me here and now?"

Draco nodded, not trusting his voice to remain steady when Harry's eyes where shining like green fire.

"Well I don't _just_ want here and now. And I don't want you to want only that either. Draco, I'm going to love you when all we have here and now fades away—when your skin is no longer smooth as glass, and your hair is white instead of blonde. I'll love you when you can't walk as well anymore, and I'll buy you a cane with a silver dragon head for a handle, and I'll love you when you bitch at me about the eyes being made of rubies instead of emeralds. I'll still want to hold your hand long after I'm unable to catch a snitch. I'll still want to kiss you after we've screamed at each other at the top of our lungs. I'll love you when things are good and when things are bad and every moment in between, because I know that being with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

There was a long beat of silence. "If you know I like emeralds, then why would you buy me rubies?"

Harry sighed, arching his neck to look back at the ceiling. "Because I'm a masochist."

Draco grinned and intertwined fingers with Harry's. His skin brushed against the fine silver band that had found its home on Harry's left ring finger. Lips quirking, Draco looked over at his own band, which would've matched Harry's exactly except for the fact that it was gold instead of silver. Harry had picked them out himself, and until now Draco hadn't understood why Harry had wanted him to wear the gold instead of the silver, but now…the depth of its meaning seemed to blossom in his mind like a flower in spring. "We belong to each other." The words simply poured out of him, soft and thick like honey.

"Hm?" Harry's eyes were back on him in an instant.

"That's what you meant—that we belong to each other. You belong to me and I belong to you. No matter what."

Harry smiled then, and Draco thought if his heart swelled anymore that his ribs would crack. "I love you, Draco."

Harry raised his head to press a soft kiss against Draco's lips, just as the blonde whispered, "I know you do."

* * *

><p><em><strong>~fin~<strong>_

* * *

><p>I just wanted to send out a big thanks to all the readers who stuck through to the end. You guys have really been the best! I know I would never have made it through to the end of this story without y'all. So I just want to send out all my love. Until we meet again :) <p>

~Aima D. Duragon


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